This was an odd day, full of unusual bits and pieces that seemed out of place.
Doug and ex-gatekeeper were busying themselves with some breakfast sacks when I arrived, but I finished stapling them, and then there was little to do for a long while.
For lunch, Doug prepared French fries and boiled hot dogs on buns. We have about 15 pounds of donated pimento-cheese w/jalapeño peppers, so Doug made a tray of sandwiches, grumbling, "Nobody will eat these." HE wouldn't even taste the mix! And it was good! I was right, of course, and those sandwiches went over well, many folks asking for seconds.
We have a new deaf resident. I met him on Friday when Doug pointed to him and whispered, "I can't stand that guy!" So I asked him why, and he launched into some excuse of rudeness and attitude, but it was soon revealed that the man is deaf. "Can you speak sign language?" Doug asked.
Minutes later, I told Doug the man's name and Doug pulled out a few letters of his sign-language alphabet and spelled his name! Proud mom here :)
Today, that relationship grew, though Doug says the man has lived there in the past and was expelled for hitting people. This is where being a fly on the wall would be so helpful...
"My little boys" were not at lunch, but I left a book for one of them, hoping it will tease him into wanting to read.
For dinner, we filled 32 plates with squash casserole, steak (real steak), rolls, and scalloped potatoes.
Our tall, thin trans fellow, who now works at the hotel across the street, came to the back door for a sack lunch. I gave him one. Then he motioned to the stack of drinks, and specified his favorite. I gave him one. Then he said he'd like another. No problem. Then he gave me the richest, deepest, sweetest look and a silent "thank you." It was one of those responses that tells you this person is seldom treated humanely. I see the same look on the deaf man's face.
Well... that's enough for one Sunday.
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Sunday, September 22, 2019
MAYBE IT'S HOPELESS
That sweet man who mopped and cleaned for us, out of the goodness of his heart (the one who accidentally crashed all the drink bottles last week)... he was caught stealing from an office worker and doing drugs. I'm so disappointed.
The cute gal who holds a managerial position at the shelter and who often kept the gate is leaving. It is said that she has another job and that she is moving. Doug told me today that she was seen buying drugs this week. One would never imagine such from her! I'm so disappointed.
Ex-gatekeeper, Doug and I took turns checking the front door, letting folks in as needed. And THEN, one of the residents LET IN a stranger with a backpack! The guy got all the way into the dining room before he was spotted and shown the door. No one would own up to having let him in. Disappointing (and kinda scary).
The very tall trans fellow is still working at the hotel across the street. He came for a lunch today, and I gave him food and drinks to take with him. I asked about his job. He was not angry today. Doug says he's been in prison several times. So young, so messed up. What's a mother to do?
In the vacant lot across the side street, a young woman had set up camp. She was lying on her back under a blanket, knees raised, when I arrived. Later, she came to ask to use the bathroom. We don't have a bathroom for the street folks. Doug and ex-gatekeeper watched her move her camp into the shade after lunchtime and observed her relieving herself. On one of my turns to check the front door, I let her into the foyer and out again. She's barefooted, tatted well, unkempt—looks like she's been sent for, couldn't go, and wouldn't do after she got there. So young, so lost.
Both of the little boys were at lunch, and I gave them treats. Neither of them cares for school… and that bothers me. Their favorite subjects are recess and P.E.
I have failed to report on Kevin. Kevin has been assigned to a cell at the local facility for the next couple of years. Maybe he'll get clean, but I don't believe anything will remedy his mental skew. We miss Kevin; I'd like to visit him, but Doug is adamantly opposed to that.
We served donated slider sandwiches for lunch. They were good. We put baked beans on the side. Fancy Lady ate a good lunch for a change. I noticed that some of her fingers were a very strange shade of whitish yellow, and they weren't necessarily adjoining fingers. Her face was not of a healthy color either.
I left before Doug and ex-gatekeeper prepared the dinner plates of soggy, donated fried chicken. There was little to do, and standing around is hard.
Here's the young woman who was camped in the vacant lot... I do wonder if she has a plan for after dark... or where she was last night... or why she has obviously left another life. Did her family abuse her? Is she "simply" on drugs? So many lost souls in such a small community; they are surely a mass in San Francisco. Yes, let's get rid of those unsightly people sleeping in expensive California doorways—maybe erect some detention centers with chain-link fences...
The cute gal who holds a managerial position at the shelter and who often kept the gate is leaving. It is said that she has another job and that she is moving. Doug told me today that she was seen buying drugs this week. One would never imagine such from her! I'm so disappointed.
Ex-gatekeeper, Doug and I took turns checking the front door, letting folks in as needed. And THEN, one of the residents LET IN a stranger with a backpack! The guy got all the way into the dining room before he was spotted and shown the door. No one would own up to having let him in. Disappointing (and kinda scary).
The very tall trans fellow is still working at the hotel across the street. He came for a lunch today, and I gave him food and drinks to take with him. I asked about his job. He was not angry today. Doug says he's been in prison several times. So young, so messed up. What's a mother to do?
In the vacant lot across the side street, a young woman had set up camp. She was lying on her back under a blanket, knees raised, when I arrived. Later, she came to ask to use the bathroom. We don't have a bathroom for the street folks. Doug and ex-gatekeeper watched her move her camp into the shade after lunchtime and observed her relieving herself. On one of my turns to check the front door, I let her into the foyer and out again. She's barefooted, tatted well, unkempt—looks like she's been sent for, couldn't go, and wouldn't do after she got there. So young, so lost.
Both of the little boys were at lunch, and I gave them treats. Neither of them cares for school… and that bothers me. Their favorite subjects are recess and P.E.
I have failed to report on Kevin. Kevin has been assigned to a cell at the local facility for the next couple of years. Maybe he'll get clean, but I don't believe anything will remedy his mental skew. We miss Kevin; I'd like to visit him, but Doug is adamantly opposed to that.
We served donated slider sandwiches for lunch. They were good. We put baked beans on the side. Fancy Lady ate a good lunch for a change. I noticed that some of her fingers were a very strange shade of whitish yellow, and they weren't necessarily adjoining fingers. Her face was not of a healthy color either.
I left before Doug and ex-gatekeeper prepared the dinner plates of soggy, donated fried chicken. There was little to do, and standing around is hard.
Here's the young woman who was camped in the vacant lot... I do wonder if she has a plan for after dark... or where she was last night... or why she has obviously left another life. Did her family abuse her? Is she "simply" on drugs? So many lost souls in such a small community; they are surely a mass in San Francisco. Yes, let's get rid of those unsightly people sleeping in expensive California doorways—maybe erect some detention centers with chain-link fences...
Monday, September 16, 2019
SPILLAGE
Most of today's excitement came when our resident-volunteer tried to straighten some of the soda containers.
Ex-gatekeeper has become a staple, and I'll admit it's pleasant to have him there. He is not seen in the soda-event pictures…but then, there wasn't room for another person.
That said, you can see that four men were in the camera's range. The other two watching were ex-gatekeeper and me. It was a very crowded kitchen for about an hour. Truck Driver came to tell Doug how unhappy he is with having his driving position taken away. It was given to a worker who cannot read and write… and Driver was put to work in a thrift shop. That called for a long hour of bitching and moaning.
The fellow nearest the camera is one of our regulars from the hotel across the street.
Our little boys were not at lunch. We had a quiet group who enjoyed the French fries and donated BBQ sandwiches. For dinner, Doug soaked a bag of mixed beans and cooked them with a big ham bone that I'd frozen weeks ago. Boy, was that good! On the side, we had deep-fried okra, chicken drumsticks and cornbread.
After lunch, an enormous woman rolled her wheelchair and oxygen tank into the dining room, asking for a bottle of water. She didn't want soda. Doug gave me the duty—said he couldn't handle it. I don't know her, and I didn't question Doug. I wondered if she might walk and maybe breathe too, if she lost 200 pounds.
Later I checked the front entrance and asked the few quiet smokers if there was any "trouble" out there. They said, "Come back around 7:00."
Ex-gatekeeper has become a staple, and I'll admit it's pleasant to have him there. He is not seen in the soda-event pictures…but then, there wasn't room for another person.
That said, you can see that four men were in the camera's range. The other two watching were ex-gatekeeper and me. It was a very crowded kitchen for about an hour. Truck Driver came to tell Doug how unhappy he is with having his driving position taken away. It was given to a worker who cannot read and write… and Driver was put to work in a thrift shop. That called for a long hour of bitching and moaning.
The fellow nearest the camera is one of our regulars from the hotel across the street.
Our little boys were not at lunch. We had a quiet group who enjoyed the French fries and donated BBQ sandwiches. For dinner, Doug soaked a bag of mixed beans and cooked them with a big ham bone that I'd frozen weeks ago. Boy, was that good! On the side, we had deep-fried okra, chicken drumsticks and cornbread.
After lunch, an enormous woman rolled her wheelchair and oxygen tank into the dining room, asking for a bottle of water. She didn't want soda. Doug gave me the duty—said he couldn't handle it. I don't know her, and I didn't question Doug. I wondered if she might walk and maybe breathe too, if she lost 200 pounds.
Later I checked the front entrance and asked the few quiet smokers if there was any "trouble" out there. They said, "Come back around 7:00."
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| Oops... |
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| Help is on the way. |
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| This is a job for…anyone who can fit in there. |
Friday, September 6, 2019
HOW DO THOSE NEEDLES WORK?
I saw a hypodermic needled at the edge of the sidewalk as I walked toward the back steps this morning. Doug met me at the door. I said, "There's a needle out there."
I thought he'd probably not be concerned, but he was. He said he'd already swept up two of those by the dumpster. Then he went out and swept up the one I had seen.
Obviously, some of us will die oblivious to reality, but I'm trying to come into the 21st century. "Doug, where do they get those needles?" I asked.
"Those are free," he said.
"Yes, but where do they get the stuff to put in the needles?"
"They buy it."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Lots of things," he said.
"How much does it cost?" I asked.
"About $25," he said.
"Well, how do they afford it, when they're living on the streets?" I asked.
"You know, Miss Joy—it's the oldest profession in the world."
"Ew," I said, "Who would want to do that with a dope addict?"
"A sex addict," he said.
He went on to explain that $25 worth of some drugs will keep a user awake for 4 to 5 days—so they don't "need" anymore for that long. Shoot, I can't even lose 4 hours of sleep without feeling damaged. It's a wonder more of those folks aren't found dead…
In the kitchen, we enjoyed a typical Friday, sacking PBJs, breakfast bagels, and meat sandwich lunches. We served about 10 folks at lunch, then made up 35 plates for dinner... dirty rice topped with a medley of beef, chicken and peppers, with green beans and a roll on the side.
I'm tired.
I thought he'd probably not be concerned, but he was. He said he'd already swept up two of those by the dumpster. Then he went out and swept up the one I had seen.
Obviously, some of us will die oblivious to reality, but I'm trying to come into the 21st century. "Doug, where do they get those needles?" I asked.
"Those are free," he said.
"Yes, but where do they get the stuff to put in the needles?"
"They buy it."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Lots of things," he said.
"How much does it cost?" I asked.
"About $25," he said.
"Well, how do they afford it, when they're living on the streets?" I asked.
"You know, Miss Joy—it's the oldest profession in the world."
"Ew," I said, "Who would want to do that with a dope addict?"
"A sex addict," he said.
He went on to explain that $25 worth of some drugs will keep a user awake for 4 to 5 days—so they don't "need" anymore for that long. Shoot, I can't even lose 4 hours of sleep without feeling damaged. It's a wonder more of those folks aren't found dead…
In the kitchen, we enjoyed a typical Friday, sacking PBJs, breakfast bagels, and meat sandwich lunches. We served about 10 folks at lunch, then made up 35 plates for dinner... dirty rice topped with a medley of beef, chicken and peppers, with green beans and a roll on the side.
I'm tired.
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