Doug woke me this morning to tell me that he wanted me to come in today (as I always have), BUT that he wants me to change my regular days to Friday and Saturday, because… because… “Crazy” is returning to the shelter kitchen.
So I’m a big girl, and IF Crazy really does have his boozed-up behaviors under control, I could certainly work with him; but, as I've mentioned, there is very little to DO there now. And I mentioned that to Doug.
“But, Miss Joy,” he argued, “it’s about the fellowship! We have a good time! We TALK!”
Yes, we did. We really did. Then Smiley came, and the fellowship of our twosome adjusted to accommodate a third personality. Then we had three people with very little to do.
I told Doug that we DON’T talk anymore because there are so many PEOPLE in the kitchen DOING VERY LITTLE.
Now that I think about it, I wonder how Smiley and Crazy will get along, and what Crazy will DO there. Those old boys are volunteering, you understand, because they have nothing else to do. Since cooking is off the list and Smiley sacks all the “now limited” sandwiches, there truly is nothing left to do! They can serve leftovers to 15 people in 10 minutes.
My mission at the shelter was to be there for the residents, and I simply don’t feel needed anymore… so I will find another avenue for these energies… and hopefully, this missive will re-emerge.
Friday, January 3, 2020
Monday, November 11, 2019
IT IS WHAT IT IS
Yesterday was a fairly typical Sunday, under the new circumstances of our group and the shelter's budget. Someone had donated two enormous beef briskets, and Doug cooked them to perfection. I had never seen so much GREASE in my life!
The "lean" portions were lovely, but I was NOT going to put a slice of brisket on anyone's plate, leaving it capped by a large slab of fat... so ex-gatekeeper and I were very slow filling the dinner plates, as I was stopping to cut off all the fat slabs. It's over. Nothing else mattered at that point.
Around late morning, I found an interesting bottle of donated salad dressing in the pantry. Assuming "the guys" were in typical guy mode, I shoved it under their noses and waited for chuckles.
They checked the name of the product, the source, the ingredients. They tasted it and gave it a passing grade. I SO WANTED them to just be boys! They were supposed to howl with laughter and make unseemly remarks. I left the door of opportunity wide open! I don't know when I've been so disappointed.
Otherwise, it was a fairly typical Sunday.
The "lean" portions were lovely, but I was NOT going to put a slice of brisket on anyone's plate, leaving it capped by a large slab of fat... so ex-gatekeeper and I were very slow filling the dinner plates, as I was stopping to cut off all the fat slabs. It's over. Nothing else mattered at that point.
Around late morning, I found an interesting bottle of donated salad dressing in the pantry. Assuming "the guys" were in typical guy mode, I shoved it under their noses and waited for chuckles.
They checked the name of the product, the source, the ingredients. They tasted it and gave it a passing grade. I SO WANTED them to just be boys! They were supposed to howl with laughter and make unseemly remarks. I left the door of opportunity wide open! I don't know when I've been so disappointed.
Otherwise, it was a fairly typical Sunday.
Sunday, November 3, 2019
TWO, TWO... two days in one...
Friday was uneventful. In fact, I barely remember Friday. I do remember telling Doug that my throat felt scratchy from time to time, and we both agreed it was allergies. We planned to make "the soup" on Sunday.
Yesterday was spent entirely in my PJs in bed, pampering what is obviously a real, hang-dog cold. When I awoke this morning, I knew in my heart that I would not be going to the shelter, so I texted Doug, "I'm SICK."
Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and had texted, "I'm coming in!" The gravy for our soup had been in my freezer for 2 weeks, and I had thawed it expressly for today. One cannot renege on the gravy duty. Besides, after making the bed I felt better.
So we made the soup and some grilled cheese sandwiches to go with. Ex-gatekeeper was there too, and he made some sack meals. Lunch went well. The sun is shining, so the crowd was not overwhelming. Doug's throat is scratchy… and by the time I caved in and crawled home, he was mentally sketching out his next few days, bad days, even worse days, then hopefully better days.
My son called this afternoon. He has the very same germ. We don't yet know when to expect the better days.
Wish I could spin a fun tale for you, but it's just not in me today. Keep those hands washed, and whatever you do, don't touch your eyes or nose with your fingers. Apparently, most people do that…
Yesterday was spent entirely in my PJs in bed, pampering what is obviously a real, hang-dog cold. When I awoke this morning, I knew in my heart that I would not be going to the shelter, so I texted Doug, "I'm SICK."
Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and had texted, "I'm coming in!" The gravy for our soup had been in my freezer for 2 weeks, and I had thawed it expressly for today. One cannot renege on the gravy duty. Besides, after making the bed I felt better.
So we made the soup and some grilled cheese sandwiches to go with. Ex-gatekeeper was there too, and he made some sack meals. Lunch went well. The sun is shining, so the crowd was not overwhelming. Doug's throat is scratchy… and by the time I caved in and crawled home, he was mentally sketching out his next few days, bad days, even worse days, then hopefully better days.
My son called this afternoon. He has the very same germ. We don't yet know when to expect the better days.
Wish I could spin a fun tale for you, but it's just not in me today. Keep those hands washed, and whatever you do, don't touch your eyes or nose with your fingers. Apparently, most people do that…
Sunday, October 27, 2019
NEW APRONS FOR ALL
Arriving at 10:15, I found Doug and ex-gatekeeper sporting the new aprons I'd left there on Friday. Truly, they looked SO SILLY in those girly aprons that I had to laugh! When I gave Doug the rooster apron I'd made just for him, he looked much more appropriate. Now I will focus on making one for ex-gatekeeper that actually fits him! I've put Doug on the hunt for Ex's favorite food, thinking an appliqué of that would be good.
For lunch we served Doug's famous potato soup and some donated pasta salad. I found a box of French beignet mix. It was like cake flour in a plastic bag in a box, with instructions on the back. Those kinds of donations always get thrown in the dumpster, and it does break my heart. So I asked Doug if we could make the beignets, and surprise, he was interested! We added some water to the cake mix, rolled out some thin dough and dropped those little things in the deep fryer. We didn't have the powdered sugar called for in the recipe, but we put cinnamon sugar on them, hot from the fryer. NOT good for you, oh, no! But tasty, so tasty! All but two of our residents helped themselves to those beignets. And you know... I think a lot of people turn down a thing because they don't know what it is. Our autistic kid glared at the goodies, holding his greedy fingers just over the pan, trying very hard to reject my offering... and I said, "You can try one, if you like, but if you don't like them, that's okay." Of course, he ate 5 or 6, or more.
Gossip..... We no longer have a security guard for the weekends, so the office staff is filling in (today at least), taking 8-hour shifts, and Richard will take the night shift as he was in the beginning. The security-guard company doesn't have anyone else to offer us at this time.
That said, the senior office worker was there from 10-4 today, so Fancy Lady made herself very scarce, and I was told that was because she is $300 behind in her rent! I thought she was the wealthy one who simply chose to live there. Well.
For dinner, we dished up 30 plates of potato salad, rolls, green beans and meatloaf. I didn't taste the meatloaf, but the potato salad and beans were sour, but we thought it was just their recipe. Gosh, I'm glad I get to eat at home.
So here we are in our new aprons... Ima make ex-gatekeeper one that fits him. Next week, he'll be totally dapper! And PhotoShop's "blur" feature is good for wrinkles too!
For lunch we served Doug's famous potato soup and some donated pasta salad. I found a box of French beignet mix. It was like cake flour in a plastic bag in a box, with instructions on the back. Those kinds of donations always get thrown in the dumpster, and it does break my heart. So I asked Doug if we could make the beignets, and surprise, he was interested! We added some water to the cake mix, rolled out some thin dough and dropped those little things in the deep fryer. We didn't have the powdered sugar called for in the recipe, but we put cinnamon sugar on them, hot from the fryer. NOT good for you, oh, no! But tasty, so tasty! All but two of our residents helped themselves to those beignets. And you know... I think a lot of people turn down a thing because they don't know what it is. Our autistic kid glared at the goodies, holding his greedy fingers just over the pan, trying very hard to reject my offering... and I said, "You can try one, if you like, but if you don't like them, that's okay." Of course, he ate 5 or 6, or more.
Gossip..... We no longer have a security guard for the weekends, so the office staff is filling in (today at least), taking 8-hour shifts, and Richard will take the night shift as he was in the beginning. The security-guard company doesn't have anyone else to offer us at this time.
That said, the senior office worker was there from 10-4 today, so Fancy Lady made herself very scarce, and I was told that was because she is $300 behind in her rent! I thought she was the wealthy one who simply chose to live there. Well.
For dinner, we dished up 30 plates of potato salad, rolls, green beans and meatloaf. I didn't taste the meatloaf, but the potato salad and beans were sour, but we thought it was just their recipe. Gosh, I'm glad I get to eat at home.
So here we are in our new aprons... Ima make ex-gatekeeper one that fits him. Next week, he'll be totally dapper! And PhotoShop's "blur" feature is good for wrinkles too!
 |
| Doug asked for a chicken, but rooster fits him much better. |
Sunday, October 20, 2019
IT'S SUNDAY AGAIN
Doug, ex-gatekeeper and I had a fine time sacking PBJs and then serving up hot lunch plates. About a dozen of our residents were elsewhere and did not come to lunch. The most interesting bit was when Fancy Lady told Doug that last night the security guard stayed in the dining room watching a movie with a friend all evening. The back story is that the shelter has hired security guards, but apparently they don't...
Anyway, Fancy said that during the time the new guard was away from his post, many unauthorized people came into the building, and a number of them slept on the floor. This does not provide safe housing for our residents (and their children). Sigh...
A fellow I've not seen before came to the open back door at lunchtime, asking for Doug, but Doug was out of earshot, so I offered to stand in. The man was going to his job, he said, and he didn't have anything for lunch. He used to live there, and he knew Doug was good for a sack lunch. So am I.
After lunch, the guys and I put together 30 plates for the dinner meal.
It's a beautiful day--sunshine--warmth--good fellowship. See you next time.
Anyway, Fancy said that during the time the new guard was away from his post, many unauthorized people came into the building, and a number of them slept on the floor. This does not provide safe housing for our residents (and their children). Sigh...
A fellow I've not seen before came to the open back door at lunchtime, asking for Doug, but Doug was out of earshot, so I offered to stand in. The man was going to his job, he said, and he didn't have anything for lunch. He used to live there, and he knew Doug was good for a sack lunch. So am I.
After lunch, the guys and I put together 30 plates for the dinner meal.
It's a beautiful day--sunshine--warmth--good fellowship. See you next time.
Friday, October 11, 2019
JUST SHOOT ME NOW
As reported before, I was asked to "work the kitchen" today while Doug is on vacation. I was told that the new PR fellow's parents would be helping me, but I was NOT told that we'd have a dozen landscaping volunteers and the shelter staff to feed, as well as our resident homeless. There was a "gathering" in the dining room before the feast, and Major God gave a little speech about the volunteers... (I didn't exactly hear it over the pot washing that I was doing). Then there was a long bowing of heads. Then everyone ate.
PR fellow's dad put our heated pans of donated foods on the serving shelf, and set out plates and utensils. That was a godsend. He also cleaned them up afterward.
I made a plate of my French tomato slices. We're spilling over with tomatoes. A large box of tomatoes was delivered to the back porch, and a half dozen heavy pans of food were brought in. I labeled them, dated them and did enough lifting to last me.
I put many boxes on the back porch to be broken down by a stronger person, put many huge pots through the sterilizer, scrubbed the tub sinks, sanitized the surfaces, enlisted garbage patrols, and steered the preparation of 35 dinner plates for the warming oven. After four hours of what I think of as hard labor, I left with an aching back.
There was no laughter, only a few shared smiles. This is how it is when I am put with folks who wear their religion like a helmet. They are very kind people, slightly older than I (much more worn), and far too serious.
Our lady with the cane is back from the hospital, and would not stop thanking me for visiting her last Sunday... as if it weren't on my way home anyway. Sadly, I imagine she was there for many days with no other visitors—else why is she living in a shelter, disabled and aging?
My last effort of the day was retrieving our ice bucket from the front grounds where it had been taken to supply the landscaping volunteers. I mean REALLY! Major God just looked at me when I said I'd come for the bucket. He seemed reluctant to let me have it. The bottom was covered with dirt and leaves, having been on the ground. I told him I needed to sterilize it and return it to the kitchen for the next meal, so he caved. Where is that man's smile? How afraid of absolutely everything on Earth is he? Only people who are afraid can carry such a solemn face all day, every day. His God is a scary one.
Well... it's over. I won't be going in on Sunday. They're on their own; I have Weed 'n Feed to put out, and Doug will still be vacationing. Drugs... I need drugs.
PR fellow's dad put our heated pans of donated foods on the serving shelf, and set out plates and utensils. That was a godsend. He also cleaned them up afterward.
I made a plate of my French tomato slices. We're spilling over with tomatoes. A large box of tomatoes was delivered to the back porch, and a half dozen heavy pans of food were brought in. I labeled them, dated them and did enough lifting to last me.
I put many boxes on the back porch to be broken down by a stronger person, put many huge pots through the sterilizer, scrubbed the tub sinks, sanitized the surfaces, enlisted garbage patrols, and steered the preparation of 35 dinner plates for the warming oven. After four hours of what I think of as hard labor, I left with an aching back.
There was no laughter, only a few shared smiles. This is how it is when I am put with folks who wear their religion like a helmet. They are very kind people, slightly older than I (much more worn), and far too serious.
Our lady with the cane is back from the hospital, and would not stop thanking me for visiting her last Sunday... as if it weren't on my way home anyway. Sadly, I imagine she was there for many days with no other visitors—else why is she living in a shelter, disabled and aging?
My last effort of the day was retrieving our ice bucket from the front grounds where it had been taken to supply the landscaping volunteers. I mean REALLY! Major God just looked at me when I said I'd come for the bucket. He seemed reluctant to let me have it. The bottom was covered with dirt and leaves, having been on the ground. I told him I needed to sterilize it and return it to the kitchen for the next meal, so he caved. Where is that man's smile? How afraid of absolutely everything on Earth is he? Only people who are afraid can carry such a solemn face all day, every day. His God is a scary one.
Well... it's over. I won't be going in on Sunday. They're on their own; I have Weed 'n Feed to put out, and Doug will still be vacationing. Drugs... I need drugs.
Sunday, October 6, 2019
FLOPPING ON THE PIER
Nothing is "usual" anymore. The shelter budget has been stripped to a bare bone, and a thin one at that. A supervisor was fired (and banned from the premises); they still refuse to hire a gatekeeper for daytime on weekends, as Doug is there... so he is expected to manage the kitchen and the front of the building. Today, he tried to shoo away a hoard of loiterers, and found it necessary to call the law. Loiterers leave a lot of trash at our front door—and they "do things" out there for which we don't want to be known. The place needs an official gatekeeper.
Sack lunches are becoming a thing of the past. We keep a few, but in-house folks are served donated hot meals every day at lunch as well as dinner now. There is very little actual cooking, as the donations require only heating. Lunch today was a chicken/rice/broccoli casserole, black-eyed peas with spinach, and a roll. No complaints.
I cannot report on the dinner menu, as I didn't stay to help load the plates. Ex-gatekeeper was there to help and I was tired—mostly from doing very little.
The boss from the hotel across the street came for a lunch plate, and he said that every one of the shelter and/or post-convict folks he's hired from our place has failed to maintain their positions with the hotel. I was disappointed to hear that the tall, thin trans fellow has also quit that job ("because his girl friend is out of jail now, and he has better things to do").
Of the little boys, only the chub was at lunch, snubbing our offerings as always.
I didn't see the deaf fellow, but Fancy Lady and I had a long talk. She avoids pasta (and all carbs), and it's plain to see, as her figure is perfect. She said her friend with the cane is in hospital, but only after being forced to go, after four long days in bed, not eating, and suffering from pneumonia. Maybe she's not as intelligent or fully functional as I've assumed.
I packed a lot of PBJ sacks. It's just not funny when the acrid smell of old grease from a freshly opened but long out-dated bag of pretzels assaults one's nose. Still, that's what we have, and that's what those on the street get: two PBJs, some really old pretzels and a soda.
In late morning, a young man came to the back door and asked for some towels. Doug pulled off a handful and sent the fellow on his way. We didn't want to know what those were for.
Doug is taking some vacation days, and the new PR guy asked me to "do" next Friday. I told him I really didn't want to. He said, "You'll be fine because my parents will help you." I repeated myself; he repeated himself. So I guess next Friday will be on me. Were it not for the heavy lifting, I'd rather do it alone!
Sack lunches are becoming a thing of the past. We keep a few, but in-house folks are served donated hot meals every day at lunch as well as dinner now. There is very little actual cooking, as the donations require only heating. Lunch today was a chicken/rice/broccoli casserole, black-eyed peas with spinach, and a roll. No complaints.
I cannot report on the dinner menu, as I didn't stay to help load the plates. Ex-gatekeeper was there to help and I was tired—mostly from doing very little.
The boss from the hotel across the street came for a lunch plate, and he said that every one of the shelter and/or post-convict folks he's hired from our place has failed to maintain their positions with the hotel. I was disappointed to hear that the tall, thin trans fellow has also quit that job ("because his girl friend is out of jail now, and he has better things to do").
Of the little boys, only the chub was at lunch, snubbing our offerings as always.
I didn't see the deaf fellow, but Fancy Lady and I had a long talk. She avoids pasta (and all carbs), and it's plain to see, as her figure is perfect. She said her friend with the cane is in hospital, but only after being forced to go, after four long days in bed, not eating, and suffering from pneumonia. Maybe she's not as intelligent or fully functional as I've assumed.
I packed a lot of PBJ sacks. It's just not funny when the acrid smell of old grease from a freshly opened but long out-dated bag of pretzels assaults one's nose. Still, that's what we have, and that's what those on the street get: two PBJs, some really old pretzels and a soda.
In late morning, a young man came to the back door and asked for some towels. Doug pulled off a handful and sent the fellow on his way. We didn't want to know what those were for.
Doug is taking some vacation days, and the new PR guy asked me to "do" next Friday. I told him I really didn't want to. He said, "You'll be fine because my parents will help you." I repeated myself; he repeated himself. So I guess next Friday will be on me. Were it not for the heavy lifting, I'd rather do it alone!
Sunday, September 29, 2019
ANGRY PEOPLE ARE HAPPY PEOPLE
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.
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 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."
 |
| Oops... |
 |
| Help is on the way. |
 |
| 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.
Friday, August 30, 2019
LONG FRIDAY
The joint was jumpin' when I got there at 10. Doug and our truck driver and one of the residents were buzzing around, cleaning, organizing and talking. No, women are not necessarily "the talkers."
When the extras cleared out, Doug and I got busy with today's schedule. I filled 25 sacks with PBJs, while he mixed 10 boxes of mac 'n cheese. Then we went to the basement for green beans for dinner. He was also planning deep fried chicken tenders and rolls.
With all of that underway, we served sack lunches to a large group of residents. Our "chub" was at lunch too, and I'm not sure why he wasn't in school. He says he doesn't like school, not even one subject. He does like the after-school program.
Our trans fellow, all 6'4" of him was at lunch, and I mention him only because today he didn't snarl at us. I tell Doug the boy is angry, and not to be too hard on him.
The 85-year-old and his caregiver were there. I went out front to check the gate situation about an hour after lunch, and Caregiver asked me to let her inside. Her arms were filled with hair products, and she said she needed to put some color on her hair (it's dyed pitch black). "Your roots looks good," I told her, as we entered the building.
"Well, I am a professional hairdresser," she said. Then she decided her roots could wait and returned to the smoking area outside, arms still loaded.
A woman came to the back door and asked if we needed any foods. She had a Subaru full of vegetables and fruits. Doug absolutely hates it when that lady comes there because her foods often have a bit of mold on them, and if he accepts them he must accept the chore of throwing them out. So he sent me out to look over the offerings. I was thrilled, I tell you! I got us some beautiful yellow squash for a casserole on Sunday and a ton of lovely fruits: strawberries, miniature red grapes, black berries, peaches, apples, oranges, grapefruit, black figs… all we need is a big tub of Cool Whip. Even Doug got excited when I described the upcoming casserole and fruit salad.
Eventually, dinner was ready, and we filled 35 plates for the warming oven. (Doug told me to remind him that next time, we only need four boxes of mac 'n cheese!) Right after that, he checked again on the gate and found a young woman with a small baby there. She wanted to know if they could stay at the shelter. She was neat and clean, as was her chubby, adorable, grinning baby. We've no idea what brought her to our door, but all we could do was give her a list of other places she could try. Our shelter requires applications and approval... Was I wrong to not bring them home with me?
When the extras cleared out, Doug and I got busy with today's schedule. I filled 25 sacks with PBJs, while he mixed 10 boxes of mac 'n cheese. Then we went to the basement for green beans for dinner. He was also planning deep fried chicken tenders and rolls.
With all of that underway, we served sack lunches to a large group of residents. Our "chub" was at lunch too, and I'm not sure why he wasn't in school. He says he doesn't like school, not even one subject. He does like the after-school program.
Our trans fellow, all 6'4" of him was at lunch, and I mention him only because today he didn't snarl at us. I tell Doug the boy is angry, and not to be too hard on him.
The 85-year-old and his caregiver were there. I went out front to check the gate situation about an hour after lunch, and Caregiver asked me to let her inside. Her arms were filled with hair products, and she said she needed to put some color on her hair (it's dyed pitch black). "Your roots looks good," I told her, as we entered the building.
"Well, I am a professional hairdresser," she said. Then she decided her roots could wait and returned to the smoking area outside, arms still loaded.
A woman came to the back door and asked if we needed any foods. She had a Subaru full of vegetables and fruits. Doug absolutely hates it when that lady comes there because her foods often have a bit of mold on them, and if he accepts them he must accept the chore of throwing them out. So he sent me out to look over the offerings. I was thrilled, I tell you! I got us some beautiful yellow squash for a casserole on Sunday and a ton of lovely fruits: strawberries, miniature red grapes, black berries, peaches, apples, oranges, grapefruit, black figs… all we need is a big tub of Cool Whip. Even Doug got excited when I described the upcoming casserole and fruit salad.
Eventually, dinner was ready, and we filled 35 plates for the warming oven. (Doug told me to remind him that next time, we only need four boxes of mac 'n cheese!) Right after that, he checked again on the gate and found a young woman with a small baby there. She wanted to know if they could stay at the shelter. She was neat and clean, as was her chubby, adorable, grinning baby. We've no idea what brought her to our door, but all we could do was give her a list of other places she could try. Our shelter requires applications and approval... Was I wrong to not bring them home with me?
Sunday, August 25, 2019
THE AUTHOR OF CONFUSION
The ex-gatekeeper is still hanging out on Sundays. I surely hope his many siblings have left town; their mama was buried 2 weeks ago! So I don't know why he needs a place to be, but he's sweet, and Doug and I have no complaints.
Lanyard Guy came in today to take the dinner shift. Doug had to leave by 1:00. For a long while, there were 4 of us in that little kitchen. Lunch was Friday's donated corned beef hash, scrambled eggs and fruit cocktail. Just about everybody was there. Fancy Lady had a bowl of eggs, Nurse with dog asked for a sack lunch to give to a hungry man out front ("I don't think he can even navigate to the back door," she explained). I gave it to her, but who knows what was really going down?
On occasion, Doug would check the front door. ALL of the hobos who've been hanging out front and back have been shooed away.
LAST NIGHT, Richard the night-shift gatekeeper called in sick! There was no one to open the kitchen and give out the dinner plates (or anything else)! A phone call brought Major God himself to the shelter, and he sat in the front "cage" and monitored the gate until midnight when Shirt Man came to relieve him, after he found a baby sitter. He took over gate duty until 8:00 a.m. when Doug arrived, and for breakfast, he gave folks sack lunches, not knowing that we have breakfast sacks. He's an office worker and knows nothing about the kitchen.
Apparently, I've lied again. We do have a security guard, but I failed to ask how long he's been with us. It's probably not long because Doug nearly fell over describing how the poor man cannot SEE anything on one side and is constantly turning to find the voice speaking to him. Besides, he only works weekdays. I'm thinking he's new. Secure? Who knows?
I've become more and more aware of our lack of funds. Just today I realized that I haven't seen a #10 can of anything in several months. Doug orders them, but someone higher up marks them off. We get boxes of 10-oz. cans that are government issue—they say.
For dinner, we plated meat patties with gravy, mashed potatoes, fried okra and a roll.
Today's chuckle: A young man came to the counter for a lunch plate when Doug was taking away empty food pans and bringing new. It confused me for a second, and I admitted to the fellow, "I'm a bit confused, but we'll get there."
"You know who the author of confusion is," he asked.
Expecting an educated reply, I said, "No, who?"
"The devil."
Lanyard Guy came in today to take the dinner shift. Doug had to leave by 1:00. For a long while, there were 4 of us in that little kitchen. Lunch was Friday's donated corned beef hash, scrambled eggs and fruit cocktail. Just about everybody was there. Fancy Lady had a bowl of eggs, Nurse with dog asked for a sack lunch to give to a hungry man out front ("I don't think he can even navigate to the back door," she explained). I gave it to her, but who knows what was really going down?
On occasion, Doug would check the front door. ALL of the hobos who've been hanging out front and back have been shooed away.
LAST NIGHT, Richard the night-shift gatekeeper called in sick! There was no one to open the kitchen and give out the dinner plates (or anything else)! A phone call brought Major God himself to the shelter, and he sat in the front "cage" and monitored the gate until midnight when Shirt Man came to relieve him, after he found a baby sitter. He took over gate duty until 8:00 a.m. when Doug arrived, and for breakfast, he gave folks sack lunches, not knowing that we have breakfast sacks. He's an office worker and knows nothing about the kitchen.
Apparently, I've lied again. We do have a security guard, but I failed to ask how long he's been with us. It's probably not long because Doug nearly fell over describing how the poor man cannot SEE anything on one side and is constantly turning to find the voice speaking to him. Besides, he only works weekdays. I'm thinking he's new. Secure? Who knows?
I've become more and more aware of our lack of funds. Just today I realized that I haven't seen a #10 can of anything in several months. Doug orders them, but someone higher up marks them off. We get boxes of 10-oz. cans that are government issue—they say.
For dinner, we plated meat patties with gravy, mashed potatoes, fried okra and a roll.
Today's chuckle: A young man came to the counter for a lunch plate when Doug was taking away empty food pans and bringing new. It confused me for a second, and I admitted to the fellow, "I'm a bit confused, but we'll get there."
"You know who the author of confusion is," he asked.
Expecting an educated reply, I said, "No, who?"
"The devil."
Sunday, August 18, 2019
BUSTED
I apologize if it takes me longer than usual to gain a full understanding of things at the shelter. I'm just a weekend volunteer. That said, today I got an earful and an eyeful of reality. I'll try to be brief.
No, "the government" did NOT take away the pre-release prisoner program. The man who was Major God at that time cut off the prisoner program. We don't know why. He also severed the shelter's 20-year tie with a great food supply. You may recall when the "Death in a Tub" chicken salad went away. After that, we could no longer afford that or anything else appealing—because we no longer had that wonderful government money.
The woman who had managed the shelter and the prison program and the finances for all of that was relieved of her 40 years of dutiful service—and it was dutiful service. Other positions also changed or went away.
Without the money the prisoners brought in, there wasn't enough for food orders and full staff. After all, it's a homeless shelter that supposedly runs on donations. Which reminds me: Because "the economy" is doing so well… the shelter hasn't enough money to buy food and pay for sufficient staff.
Those circumstances have finally dictated that Doug be assigned as weekend gatekeeper, along with his cook and bottle washer duties. I'm telling you: The boy's shorts are in a wad! We had a security guard last winter, you may recall, but that position is no longer affordable, and we truly need one. The street folks have been hovering in and around the front door, to get out of the heat. Our residents use those same areas for smoking and visiting. You wouldn't want to live there.
So, the Hostile One has been coming back around looking for drinks and food. Doug has run her off several times because she's, well… hostile. Today, each time he checked the front lobby she was sleeping on the floor there, and he told her to leave. Finally, she went to the glass entryway (which is not air-conditioned), and there she lay, out cold, for the rest of the afternoon. I know because I took turns with Doug checking on the gate.
The phone system is not working. I couldn't decide whether to put that in bold or italics or what, so there it is, plain and simple. Doug often bleeped, "What if I needed to call 911?" The answering machine apparently does work because a little red light on the phone would often blink, signaling a message.
Around mid-morning, Kevin came to the back door, and Doug said, "I have never seen him like this!" So I went to see for myself. He looked like Kevin to me, but his voice is so very soft today that I understood little of what he said. I did make out, "You and Doug and me…" Whatever it is, we're in it together.
Poor little fellow wobbled around on the porch for about 20 minutes. I gave him a sack lunch, two drinks and a cup of ice. Then he began to gather some of our broken-down boxes, no doubt for a bed tonight. Doug reminded him to leave nothing on the porch, but Kevin left a jacket and sunglasses. Doug gave them away. Teaching is a hard job.
When Doug came through the kitchen cheerfully announcing, "Meet the new Kevin!" I went out to see. "The new Kevin" is two guys I call Moe and No Moe. They were not inebriated, and they were thankful for the lunches and drinks I gave them. I hope they don't leave trash. They spent the afternoon in the shade of a tree, stretched out for a nap.
Lunch was Doug's famous potato soup, donated deli sandwiches and my own French-style sliced tomatoes (balsamic vinegar, olive oil, sea salt). All was well received. After the meal, the little lady whose grin says "we've got a secret" came to ask me if she could have some food to give a fellow out front who hadn't eaten all day. I told her to send him to the back door. He arrived at the bottom of the stairs looking absolutely pathetic—some mother's beautiful, tall, young, sandy-haired son, shaggy and worn and wearing a hot fleece jacket, zipped up to the nines. I told him, "Stay hydrated!" …stay alive…get sober…
Our 85-year-old was at lunch with his caregiver. It is said that he has a monthly income of $4500 and that he cannot get up and down the stairs to his room without help. So many questions come with his situation!
We filled 37 dinner plates with donated beef and gravy, new potatoes, red cabbage and a roll. It is wonderful to have so much nutritious donated food, but such a bummer to know that we have no choices now. Perhaps this financial bust is the thing that's stuck in Major God's craw (or lower).
Doug really doesn't want to be a gatekeeper and cook. His pay has not changed, and we are quickly becoming far too dependent on volunteers. I don't have a good feeling about the future for our shelter.
At 2 o'clock, Doug checked the front again and found a young woman there with a fresh syringe in her hands. He told her "No!" then made her break off the needle and put the syringe in a soda bottle. She said, "I really want to quit," and there he left her, quit for the moment, and most unhappy. He brought the soda bottle to the kitchen, then threw it over the porch rail and into the dumpster.
When I left, there were three young people on the sidewalk near the parking lot. One was obviously sleeping, one was obviously very stressed, and the third was trying to comfort her. I did not put two and two together. I warned you earlier that I am slow. SO… as I began to exit the parking lot, I saw a little car easing my way. I waited for it to pass (few cars use that street and that one didn't appear to have a nearby destination). The car passed, and I pulled out behind it. Soon, that driver pulled over and put on his caution lights, so I went around him and came home, kicking myself all the way for not thinking to get his tag number. THAT CAR was surely there to service the young woman in withdrawal.
Gee, I hope I learn to understand what I am looking at before it's too late again.
No, "the government" did NOT take away the pre-release prisoner program. The man who was Major God at that time cut off the prisoner program. We don't know why. He also severed the shelter's 20-year tie with a great food supply. You may recall when the "Death in a Tub" chicken salad went away. After that, we could no longer afford that or anything else appealing—because we no longer had that wonderful government money.
The woman who had managed the shelter and the prison program and the finances for all of that was relieved of her 40 years of dutiful service—and it was dutiful service. Other positions also changed or went away.
Without the money the prisoners brought in, there wasn't enough for food orders and full staff. After all, it's a homeless shelter that supposedly runs on donations. Which reminds me: Because "the economy" is doing so well… the shelter hasn't enough money to buy food and pay for sufficient staff.
Those circumstances have finally dictated that Doug be assigned as weekend gatekeeper, along with his cook and bottle washer duties. I'm telling you: The boy's shorts are in a wad! We had a security guard last winter, you may recall, but that position is no longer affordable, and we truly need one. The street folks have been hovering in and around the front door, to get out of the heat. Our residents use those same areas for smoking and visiting. You wouldn't want to live there.
So, the Hostile One has been coming back around looking for drinks and food. Doug has run her off several times because she's, well… hostile. Today, each time he checked the front lobby she was sleeping on the floor there, and he told her to leave. Finally, she went to the glass entryway (which is not air-conditioned), and there she lay, out cold, for the rest of the afternoon. I know because I took turns with Doug checking on the gate.
The phone system is not working. I couldn't decide whether to put that in bold or italics or what, so there it is, plain and simple. Doug often bleeped, "What if I needed to call 911?" The answering machine apparently does work because a little red light on the phone would often blink, signaling a message.
Around mid-morning, Kevin came to the back door, and Doug said, "I have never seen him like this!" So I went to see for myself. He looked like Kevin to me, but his voice is so very soft today that I understood little of what he said. I did make out, "You and Doug and me…" Whatever it is, we're in it together.
Poor little fellow wobbled around on the porch for about 20 minutes. I gave him a sack lunch, two drinks and a cup of ice. Then he began to gather some of our broken-down boxes, no doubt for a bed tonight. Doug reminded him to leave nothing on the porch, but Kevin left a jacket and sunglasses. Doug gave them away. Teaching is a hard job.
When Doug came through the kitchen cheerfully announcing, "Meet the new Kevin!" I went out to see. "The new Kevin" is two guys I call Moe and No Moe. They were not inebriated, and they were thankful for the lunches and drinks I gave them. I hope they don't leave trash. They spent the afternoon in the shade of a tree, stretched out for a nap.
Lunch was Doug's famous potato soup, donated deli sandwiches and my own French-style sliced tomatoes (balsamic vinegar, olive oil, sea salt). All was well received. After the meal, the little lady whose grin says "we've got a secret" came to ask me if she could have some food to give a fellow out front who hadn't eaten all day. I told her to send him to the back door. He arrived at the bottom of the stairs looking absolutely pathetic—some mother's beautiful, tall, young, sandy-haired son, shaggy and worn and wearing a hot fleece jacket, zipped up to the nines. I told him, "Stay hydrated!" …stay alive…get sober…
Our 85-year-old was at lunch with his caregiver. It is said that he has a monthly income of $4500 and that he cannot get up and down the stairs to his room without help. So many questions come with his situation!
We filled 37 dinner plates with donated beef and gravy, new potatoes, red cabbage and a roll. It is wonderful to have so much nutritious donated food, but such a bummer to know that we have no choices now. Perhaps this financial bust is the thing that's stuck in Major God's craw (or lower).
Doug really doesn't want to be a gatekeeper and cook. His pay has not changed, and we are quickly becoming far too dependent on volunteers. I don't have a good feeling about the future for our shelter.
At 2 o'clock, Doug checked the front again and found a young woman there with a fresh syringe in her hands. He told her "No!" then made her break off the needle and put the syringe in a soda bottle. She said, "I really want to quit," and there he left her, quit for the moment, and most unhappy. He brought the soda bottle to the kitchen, then threw it over the porch rail and into the dumpster.
When I left, there were three young people on the sidewalk near the parking lot. One was obviously sleeping, one was obviously very stressed, and the third was trying to comfort her. I did not put two and two together. I warned you earlier that I am slow. SO… as I began to exit the parking lot, I saw a little car easing my way. I waited for it to pass (few cars use that street and that one didn't appear to have a nearby destination). The car passed, and I pulled out behind it. Soon, that driver pulled over and put on his caution lights, so I went around him and came home, kicking myself all the way for not thinking to get his tag number. THAT CAR was surely there to service the young woman in withdrawal.
Gee, I hope I learn to understand what I am looking at before it's too late again.
Friday, August 16, 2019
EVERYBODY HAS ONE
Doug greeted me this morning with a sweet gift and birthday card. Great way to start any day!
He had dinner in the oven and the PBJs ready to sack. We also made 20 meat-sandwich lunch sacks.
Remember those meals Doug prepared for Major God's church—those meals that no one collected—those meals that were thrown away? Today, Major God told one of the office workers that he had decided to "just serve dessert." He never told Doug on Sunday. I've noted before how difficult the man seems to find it to be basically polite or thoughtful. The office workers are beginning to pay special attention to that man's behaviors. Stay tuned.
We had about 10 for sack lunches, among them a new fellow who is 85 years old and who has a caregiver with him! This is a situation that I've not seen before. The old fellow wanted to go into town after lunch, so Doug arranged for one of the younger residents to accompany him and his caregiver. I dunno.
As for Kevin… his apartment is completely cleaned out. "Major God sent him away," Doug said.
"Really?" I asked. "What did he say to Kevin?"
"Oh, he never actually spoke to Kevin; he told an office worker and she told the gatekeeper…" So it was handed down until someone told Kevin to clean up his place and not return there to sleep. About 2 p.m. today, we heard Kevin's knock. He looked good! Well… for Kevin. He had a lot on his mind. First, he said, he wanted to tell me about his encounter with the police… "and then I want a cup of ice, a drink, and a snack and a Gatorade." I stood there several minutes while he recounted his legal issues. I think he was telling me that a policeman had called the station to see if there were any warrants out on him and that he was proud to report there was none. He put his fist to his mouth several times as if speaking into a radio receiver, as he gave me both sides of the conversation he'd witnessed.
Kevin's words are not very clear, his little body bent and unsteady. I gave him a sack lunch, a cup of ice and a Gatorade. Doug went out onto the porch to chat with him.
We filled 37 plates for dinner: meatloaf (frozen long ago), mashed potatoes, peas 'n carrots with a roll, and that's a wrap.
He had dinner in the oven and the PBJs ready to sack. We also made 20 meat-sandwich lunch sacks.
Remember those meals Doug prepared for Major God's church—those meals that no one collected—those meals that were thrown away? Today, Major God told one of the office workers that he had decided to "just serve dessert." He never told Doug on Sunday. I've noted before how difficult the man seems to find it to be basically polite or thoughtful. The office workers are beginning to pay special attention to that man's behaviors. Stay tuned.
We had about 10 for sack lunches, among them a new fellow who is 85 years old and who has a caregiver with him! This is a situation that I've not seen before. The old fellow wanted to go into town after lunch, so Doug arranged for one of the younger residents to accompany him and his caregiver. I dunno.
As for Kevin… his apartment is completely cleaned out. "Major God sent him away," Doug said.
"Really?" I asked. "What did he say to Kevin?"
"Oh, he never actually spoke to Kevin; he told an office worker and she told the gatekeeper…" So it was handed down until someone told Kevin to clean up his place and not return there to sleep. About 2 p.m. today, we heard Kevin's knock. He looked good! Well… for Kevin. He had a lot on his mind. First, he said, he wanted to tell me about his encounter with the police… "and then I want a cup of ice, a drink, and a snack and a Gatorade." I stood there several minutes while he recounted his legal issues. I think he was telling me that a policeman had called the station to see if there were any warrants out on him and that he was proud to report there was none. He put his fist to his mouth several times as if speaking into a radio receiver, as he gave me both sides of the conversation he'd witnessed.
Kevin's words are not very clear, his little body bent and unsteady. I gave him a sack lunch, a cup of ice and a Gatorade. Doug went out onto the porch to chat with him.
We filled 37 plates for dinner: meatloaf (frozen long ago), mashed potatoes, peas 'n carrots with a roll, and that's a wrap.
Sunday, August 11, 2019
THE SICK, THE SAD, AND THE ODD
One of our ex-gatekeepers is hanging out at the kitchen this week—avoiding a hoard of siblings who have turned up from far and wide to see what they might gain from their mother's passing. Anyway, said ex-gatekeeper was safe in the kitchen with Doug and me, and he was so very pleasant and helpful.
We did no cooking, as lunch was more of those horrid donated BBQ chicken nuggets, yellow rice, and chicken on skewers. Our several refrigerators and freezers are overflowing still (more). For dinner, we made 31 plates of pinto beans, peas 'n carrots, and turkey. The turkey was frozen 6 or 8 months ago and had long since lost its inviting aroma, but what can we do? Personally, I just went without lunch and scrounged a wee bag of chips from the pantry.
Our Sunday-lunch guests included "my little boy" whom I have not seen in many weeks. He spoke to me from his seat at a table, but I couldn't hear him for all the kitchen noise, so I went into the dining room to hear him better. "I'm cold," he said. And he was having chills. I put my cheek on his forehead and announced to Doug, "This baby has a fever."
The child's father entered our conversation. He was especially upset by this fever, as the child has strep throat for which treatment was begun on Friday, and not only that, but the child's tonsils were removed 2 months ago, supposedly to halt his too-frequent upper respiratory infections.
I gave the child some school supplies from my godmother bag, and asked him if he'd like some chicken noodle soup. No. He might eat some chicken and rice soup. Half an hour later I had found a can of chicken and noodle homestyle Healthy Choice soup and replaced the noodles with yellow rice from a donation pan. Dad put the soup in the big wall fridge, then took the child to the ER. He hadn't given him the "pain and fever" med since last night, so I reminded him to stay on top of that… He's a super dad, but he's a guy.
Our other child (Spanky, the extra fluffy one) came to lunch today. He asked me to bring him a sack of fried pizza rolls that is kept in the freezer for him. "Don't you eat regular food?" I asked. No, he doesn't, and boy is he overweight! I asked him, too, if he needed school supplies, and he said someone had provided those last week. Still, he appeared envious as I handed color pencils, crayons, eraser and glue to the other child.
An hour past lunchtime, the nurse with the therapy dog came for a meal. She got a sack lunch. She was with "her new friend," as Doug calls him. Her new friend is that very tall, very skinny young man I mentioned last week (the one who was newly released from prison and never wants to go back). Doug had been trying to tell me that the young man was gay, but I wasn't buying it just because Doug said so.
And then there he was, even taller than last week, in his black suede 6-inch boots. Well... maybe he just likes to dress up on Sundays.
Doug had gatekeeper duty, so once or twice an hour he'd go up front to see if anyone needed to be let in. Things were quiet on that front. No EMTs today, no evil people, and only a few vagrants.
And that's how I left the place, well after 2 o'clock, having done little more than serve a few plates and keep company with some folks. My friend Sylvia always said, "Company is good to the grave."
We did no cooking, as lunch was more of those horrid donated BBQ chicken nuggets, yellow rice, and chicken on skewers. Our several refrigerators and freezers are overflowing still (more). For dinner, we made 31 plates of pinto beans, peas 'n carrots, and turkey. The turkey was frozen 6 or 8 months ago and had long since lost its inviting aroma, but what can we do? Personally, I just went without lunch and scrounged a wee bag of chips from the pantry.
Our Sunday-lunch guests included "my little boy" whom I have not seen in many weeks. He spoke to me from his seat at a table, but I couldn't hear him for all the kitchen noise, so I went into the dining room to hear him better. "I'm cold," he said. And he was having chills. I put my cheek on his forehead and announced to Doug, "This baby has a fever."
The child's father entered our conversation. He was especially upset by this fever, as the child has strep throat for which treatment was begun on Friday, and not only that, but the child's tonsils were removed 2 months ago, supposedly to halt his too-frequent upper respiratory infections.
I gave the child some school supplies from my godmother bag, and asked him if he'd like some chicken noodle soup. No. He might eat some chicken and rice soup. Half an hour later I had found a can of chicken and noodle homestyle Healthy Choice soup and replaced the noodles with yellow rice from a donation pan. Dad put the soup in the big wall fridge, then took the child to the ER. He hadn't given him the "pain and fever" med since last night, so I reminded him to stay on top of that… He's a super dad, but he's a guy.
Our other child (Spanky, the extra fluffy one) came to lunch today. He asked me to bring him a sack of fried pizza rolls that is kept in the freezer for him. "Don't you eat regular food?" I asked. No, he doesn't, and boy is he overweight! I asked him, too, if he needed school supplies, and he said someone had provided those last week. Still, he appeared envious as I handed color pencils, crayons, eraser and glue to the other child.
An hour past lunchtime, the nurse with the therapy dog came for a meal. She got a sack lunch. She was with "her new friend," as Doug calls him. Her new friend is that very tall, very skinny young man I mentioned last week (the one who was newly released from prison and never wants to go back). Doug had been trying to tell me that the young man was gay, but I wasn't buying it just because Doug said so.
And then there he was, even taller than last week, in his black suede 6-inch boots. Well... maybe he just likes to dress up on Sundays.
Doug had gatekeeper duty, so once or twice an hour he'd go up front to see if anyone needed to be let in. Things were quiet on that front. No EMTs today, no evil people, and only a few vagrants.
And that's how I left the place, well after 2 o'clock, having done little more than serve a few plates and keep company with some folks. My friend Sylvia always said, "Company is good to the grave."
Friday, August 9, 2019
THE VERY SLOW DAY
The porch appeared tidy when I approached the back stairs this morning, but on second glance I found Kevin sound asleep, sitting upright, exactly as he was 3 hours later. We must find help for Kevin. He is always welcome at the county jail, but that is not helping him.
Doug was extremely proud to tell me that all we had to do was sack the meat sandwiches—that took 10 minutes. Lunch was in the oven and among the donations in the walk-in fridge. There were massive amounts of aluminum baking pans filled with restaurant donations in that fridge, in the walk-in freezer and in the wide, lighted wall fridge—meals, was far as the taste buds could imagine. Too far.
The lunch bunch numbered about 10, and some had the gall to come as much as 90 minutes late, but everyone was pleasant. After that, Doug spent some time helping the gatekeeper with a man who made her nervous… and then a woman came in who was feeling suicidal. They gave her a sack lunch, but very soon she was hauled off by the EMTs. The shelter foyer receives many visitors from the streets—the saddest in winter.
Doug and I plated 37 meals for dinner. When I left, Kevin was wobbling about on the lift, tidying his area. He called to me, "Hey there. Stop." I pretended I didn't notice, not wanting to become involved in a lengthy discussion of the outer dimension we call the Twilight Zone. He called twice more, raising his voice to a level I could not ignore. He just wanted to wish "Miss Lady" and nice weekend. How does one keep track of weekends when days and nights roll into a perpetual ball of hunger, thirst, addiction, collecting and sleep?
You have a nice weekend too.
Doug was extremely proud to tell me that all we had to do was sack the meat sandwiches—that took 10 minutes. Lunch was in the oven and among the donations in the walk-in fridge. There were massive amounts of aluminum baking pans filled with restaurant donations in that fridge, in the walk-in freezer and in the wide, lighted wall fridge—meals, was far as the taste buds could imagine. Too far.
The lunch bunch numbered about 10, and some had the gall to come as much as 90 minutes late, but everyone was pleasant. After that, Doug spent some time helping the gatekeeper with a man who made her nervous… and then a woman came in who was feeling suicidal. They gave her a sack lunch, but very soon she was hauled off by the EMTs. The shelter foyer receives many visitors from the streets—the saddest in winter.
Doug and I plated 37 meals for dinner. When I left, Kevin was wobbling about on the lift, tidying his area. He called to me, "Hey there. Stop." I pretended I didn't notice, not wanting to become involved in a lengthy discussion of the outer dimension we call the Twilight Zone. He called twice more, raising his voice to a level I could not ignore. He just wanted to wish "Miss Lady" and nice weekend. How does one keep track of weekends when days and nights roll into a perpetual ball of hunger, thirst, addiction, collecting and sleep?
You have a nice weekend too.
Sunday, August 4, 2019
TOO MUCH AND TOO LITTLE
Minutes after I arrived, Doug got two phone calls and left me alone with barely a hello. He was waylaid long enough for me to make 40 PBJs and sack them with drinks, chips and a napkin. THEN I was let in on the conversations. Doug's new boss asked him to be the gatekeeper and the cook today. That is a stretch because the "gate" and the kitchen are at opposite sides of the building. Richard, our usual gatekeeper, had been there all night and until late this morning, so the boss told Richard to go downstairs and sleep because he'll be keeping that gate again tonight. Furthermore, Major God had called to ask Doug to provide lunch for his whole church congregation.
We did have an abundance of donations, with more on the way. So Doug put two large pans of fried chicken in the oven, a large pan of asparagus in the steamer, and potato salad on the prep table. As time passed, and the food was not collected, Doug was told that Major's wife was going to pick it up, but a lady had asked Wife to pray with her… and they were still taking care of that.
When I left at 2:00, the foods had not been collected and church was long-since over. No one called to change the plan or to apologize; nor will he ever.
For lunch we served BBQ, coleslaw and baked beans to a modest crowd, including two fellows from the hotel across the street. Doug was gone about half the time, checking on the gate.
Kevin's area was clean when I arrived, and I only saw him briefly when he came to the back door for a drink. (I still think something's wrong with his legs; God only knows.)
By 1:00, Doug's boss had come to relieve him of the gate, and we cleaned the kitchen for the night.
The Hostile One checked herself out of the shelter; we're all glad to be relieved of her issues. Those who came to lunch were calm and quiet. Doug said they didn't like the food. Maybe he was right. It was eastern barbecue, and not recognizing that, Doug had dumped red barbecue sauce in it. No, I didn't give that a taste test.
Tonight's dinner plates were filled with Salisbury steak 'n gravy, mac 'n cheese, Brussels sprouts with carrots, and a roll. The pantry, the freezer, the walk-in fridge and the big wall fridge are overflowing with donations, as are boxes stacked in the pantry and other places where they block our paths. I couldn't even step into the walk-in fridge…
There was no joie de vivre in the kitchen today, as The Powers had left a pall on the place from the start of our morning. I suppose we can make up for it next week.
I had to ask Doug to see me to my car this afternoon because a stranger with an expensive bicycle was rummaging through our dumpster. Doug just approaches scary situations with, "Hey, Buddy, can we help you?" Nope. Buddy and his bike scurried away.
We did have an abundance of donations, with more on the way. So Doug put two large pans of fried chicken in the oven, a large pan of asparagus in the steamer, and potato salad on the prep table. As time passed, and the food was not collected, Doug was told that Major's wife was going to pick it up, but a lady had asked Wife to pray with her… and they were still taking care of that.
When I left at 2:00, the foods had not been collected and church was long-since over. No one called to change the plan or to apologize; nor will he ever.
For lunch we served BBQ, coleslaw and baked beans to a modest crowd, including two fellows from the hotel across the street. Doug was gone about half the time, checking on the gate.
Kevin's area was clean when I arrived, and I only saw him briefly when he came to the back door for a drink. (I still think something's wrong with his legs; God only knows.)
By 1:00, Doug's boss had come to relieve him of the gate, and we cleaned the kitchen for the night.
The Hostile One checked herself out of the shelter; we're all glad to be relieved of her issues. Those who came to lunch were calm and quiet. Doug said they didn't like the food. Maybe he was right. It was eastern barbecue, and not recognizing that, Doug had dumped red barbecue sauce in it. No, I didn't give that a taste test.
Tonight's dinner plates were filled with Salisbury steak 'n gravy, mac 'n cheese, Brussels sprouts with carrots, and a roll. The pantry, the freezer, the walk-in fridge and the big wall fridge are overflowing with donations, as are boxes stacked in the pantry and other places where they block our paths. I couldn't even step into the walk-in fridge…
There was no joie de vivre in the kitchen today, as The Powers had left a pall on the place from the start of our morning. I suppose we can make up for it next week.
I had to ask Doug to see me to my car this afternoon because a stranger with an expensive bicycle was rummaging through our dumpster. Doug just approaches scary situations with, "Hey, Buddy, can we help you?" Nope. Buddy and his bike scurried away.
Friday, August 2, 2019
NEVER A DULL MOMENT
It's Doug's birthday! He got two cakes and sundry other goodies in recognition of the occasion, and we celebrated until 3 o'clock! It was not a dull day.
My morning began at the back steps, where Kevin's litter was front and center. Doug met me in the kitchen with the announcement that he'd had it out yesterday with "Major God 'n 'em" about the massive amounts of donations we're receiving. Later, when two of the office workers came to discuss the issue, I asked them outright, "Exactly who is going to hell if we just say 'No, thank you?'" Their response was amazingly comprehensive. I surely wish Major God had been there for my question!
Around mid-morning, Kevin brought a copy of Animal Farm to the back door and told Doug, "Give this to Miss Lady; I know she reads." Poor Kevin. Doug tried to hand it to me, but I refused to touch it. Later he brought another book and said, "You take it; you got gloves on." No sale.
I don't know what keeps Kevin alive, though there are surely hundreds of thousands of humans in the Third World who live in poorer conditions. Kevin was eating foods we'd thrown in the dumpster and sharing them with flies. He tried twice to pay me with rocks today, but I begged off with "save them for me on Sunday! Okay?"
We had donated chicken pot pie for lunch, and when that ran out, the latecomers got sack lunches. The Hostile One from last Sunday arrived late and was most angry that we'd run out of pot pie. She claims that her bright red hair (cut harshly short) is her excuse for "attitude." She refused a sack lunch and sat down with the mother of the autistic boy—the woman who sometimes wears her teeth. That woman may be an addict, but she's no dummy; within a very few minutes, she had calmed down the Hostile One and was telling us not to worry, she had it covered. She did.
Autistic Kid took one look at the pot pie and said, "I don't like that." I took a lesson from his mother and told him he needed to try it and that if he still didn't like it, he didn't have to eat it. Of course, he ate it all.
Later, Office Worker was telling us that Hostile One's room was being searched and cleaned of many foods and drinks (like all that she took from the dining room last Sunday). No, she wasn't giving it to the people out front. She appears horribly addicted, with her edgy attitude, shaking legs and missing teeth… and she's treading on thin ice with the staff.
There's another new resident, very thin and very tall. He just got out of prison and says he never wants to go there again! All I could do was offer him sustenance, an encouraging word and a thumbs up.
Doug and Shirt Man spent about an hour hashing out the downside of donations: Some things are rotten, some are molded, and why does "that woman" keep bringing us her rotten apples? Imagine a sealed box of mini muffins with a resident fly inside. Imagine a dozen banana boxes full of apples, plums, lemons, and bananas! There simply aren't enough people in that little shelter to eat such an abundance of food--not to mention the cooked meals in aluminum pans--dozens of them.
Kevin followed me to my car when I left, trying to give me a handful of rocks. I do feel a bit guilty begging off, but I left him with the promise of accepting them on Sunday, hoping fervently that he will not remember. After all, he'd spent the afternoon talking enthusiastically with an imaginary friend or simply to himself. I do it all the time.
 |
| Welcome! |
 |
"Hey, Buddy… you think you can clean up your stuff right away?
Major God is coming, and we need to have it clean."
|
I don't know what keeps Kevin alive, though there are surely hundreds of thousands of humans in the Third World who live in poorer conditions. Kevin was eating foods we'd thrown in the dumpster and sharing them with flies. He tried twice to pay me with rocks today, but I begged off with "save them for me on Sunday! Okay?"
 |
Have you tried this hemp water?
|
Autistic Kid took one look at the pot pie and said, "I don't like that." I took a lesson from his mother and told him he needed to try it and that if he still didn't like it, he didn't have to eat it. Of course, he ate it all.
Later, Office Worker was telling us that Hostile One's room was being searched and cleaned of many foods and drinks (like all that she took from the dining room last Sunday). No, she wasn't giving it to the people out front. She appears horribly addicted, with her edgy attitude, shaking legs and missing teeth… and she's treading on thin ice with the staff.
There's another new resident, very thin and very tall. He just got out of prison and says he never wants to go there again! All I could do was offer him sustenance, an encouraging word and a thumbs up.
Doug and Shirt Man spent about an hour hashing out the downside of donations: Some things are rotten, some are molded, and why does "that woman" keep bringing us her rotten apples? Imagine a sealed box of mini muffins with a resident fly inside. Imagine a dozen banana boxes full of apples, plums, lemons, and bananas! There simply aren't enough people in that little shelter to eat such an abundance of food--not to mention the cooked meals in aluminum pans--dozens of them.
 |
They come in the front door, are scavenged for salvage,
then tossed out the back. Sad but necessary.
|
 |
Ready-to-eat dishes, chef designed, carefully dated,
and much too much. (The walk-in fridge is full.)
|
Sunday, July 28, 2019
HAVE MERCY!
Arrived at 10, got home at 3—my feet are sore, but my heart is high—we had tons of fun today!
One of the office workers and her husband were blocking my parking area when I arrived. She said, "We're fixing the gate for Major God." Anyway, her husband moved his truck so I could park, and I headed for the back stairs where I first got a glimpse of Kevin. "Hey, Kevin!" I hollered.
"Hey, Miss Lady," he answered, continuing with his usual long string of disjointed conversation. I did understand him to say he'd been robbed and all his rocks were stolen. (No doubt Doug and I are guilty, but not confessing.)
Kevin's mess was strewn on the steps, and he had a friend there too. It was a challenge, but I managed to step around the fellows and their belongings. Thankfully, Doug was quick to open the door for me. Kevin is downright dirty today. His hands and fingernails are black! I'm just not accustomed to seeing him so very dirty. At one point during our numerous encounters, I saw his young friend offer him some deodorant. That was a first!
Doug and I spent our first hour sacking PBJs and meat-sandwich lunches...while he vented heavily about the office lady "intruding" on his day alone there. Apparently, he feels a lot of pressure when the office folks are around; the place has regulations, and while they are written in stone but seldom followed… it's just that they exist. Kinda puts a body on edge. NOT that we were breaking any regulations!
There are tons of donated foods in the coolers. Doug was very late deciding what to serve for lunch, and that put him in a tizzy, but once his plan was on the stove, he calmed down. We had donated fried chicken, cornbread muffins and fresh sliced fruits. I boiled 2 dozen eggs, and we heated pinto beans. The food was well received.
Our residents are beginning to show change, and their number has increased. No youth today, and Fancy Lady was also missing; however, a friend of hers (new to me and just eat up with rheumatoid arthritis) came to the counter to ask if I might save some boiled eggs for Fancy. She has asked for those, you know. So I gave a bag of four eggs to Gatekeeper to save for Fancy.
Gatekeeper is still with us, still calm and just riding easy in that saddle. We might get to keep him for awhile. That would be lovely. He reminds me of a cousin; let's call him Richard.
Our "little old lady" who is toothless came to ask for a special favor, and that was the high point of my day. "Can you get me a Dr. Pepper? It's got prune juice in it, and it does right by me. If I mix it with a cup of coffee, I'm good."
I assured her that I had a good understanding of her need and fetched her a 12-ounce bottle with a screw-on cap, so she could save some for later. We even whispered about the rules of taking food and drinks from the dining room and how she'd need to hide that. She assured me she didn't want any roaches(!) in her room, so she had a plan already in place. If only you could see this wee person whose eyes sparkle with life as a child's—her consistent cheer, her refusal to acknowledge any rigors of homelessness.
All three of the young folks from the hotel across the street came for a lunch plate. It appears that their boss and one of the others may still work there, but the third one is just hanging out with his buds. They're behaving themselves, and prison may have done them some good. The kitchen was crowded for awhile, but they are good company.
When lunch was over at 12:30, Doug and I were cleaning and working toward filling the dinner plates, but we had a number of interruptions. Kevin pounded on the back door to ask for ice and drink. He also wanted a sack lunch for his friend on the steps. I gave the guys plenty of ice, food and drinks and returned to cleaning. Around 1:00, our young gal with the service dog came through the dining-room door in a housecoat, looking for all the world like a sick child who needed her mommy.
I cannot get in too deeply with their personal issues, so I simply gave her the foods she wanted. We had not yet dispensed with the leftovers. She was very picky—two of these, only one of those, none of that. She gave some of the foods a nauseous look, but seemed purely hungry for others. I didn't question her, but we don't pamper folks like that as a rule. Before I could turn around, I noticed that the girl and her foods had disappeared! My mistake.
Another knock at the door revealed a thin young woman who wanted a sack lunch and a drink. She smiled warmly and thanked me. But, you know, she might be the next one with a slit throat… Where is the answer to this homeless, drug-addicted problem?
After that, Doug cleaned up the serving counter and threw away what little was left, though he'd kept two plates in the warming oven. Then a fellow came in from a long morning at church, and he wanted one of the plates plus a sack lunch! He said he certainly could eat that much food because he's hypoglycemic (needs protein and no sugar). He ate everything, then returned to ask for sweets. I morphed into his mother and gave him some gum. No cookies for you! He left happy.
Then we had yet another late arrival—a most unusual young person we call "she/her" who is new there and who has not shown evidence of good manners. She questioned me at length and with a poor attitude about why we didn't have any lunch left. I gave her a sack lunch, she loaded her arms with FOUR soft drinks and walked out, right in front of me and Richard, while we raised our voices telling her that was forbidden!
Someone said she takes drinks and food to "the people out front."
Still, Doug and I needed to plate dinner, but Kevin got in the picture again. Kevin is as drunk as a skunk today, and Doug spent at least 10 minutes gently reprimanding him and extracting promises of better behavior. Kevin gave Doug a fist bump, and they shook hands. I got my hand sanitizer and stood by, but that dressing down took a lot longer than I expected.
I grabbed an opportunity to speak with Kevin's friend. He's a handsome young man who is clear-eyed and healthy. I told him that he was obviously sober and able to do better than hang around with Kevin. I told him he needs to get his life in order and get a place of his own. "He's had a place of his own!" Kevin said, perhaps proudly. The young man agreed with me. I hope he understood that I believe he can do better; I believe he can overcome whatever thing has brought him to these back stairs with Kevin. I believe in him. It's all I can do.
Finally, Doug and I plated the foods he'd had warming all morning: sweet potatoes, ham, corn and a biscuit on each of 38 plates. I could not believe it was well after 2 o'clock before I could take off my apron. What a full, full day.
One of the office workers and her husband were blocking my parking area when I arrived. She said, "We're fixing the gate for Major God." Anyway, her husband moved his truck so I could park, and I headed for the back stairs where I first got a glimpse of Kevin. "Hey, Kevin!" I hollered.
"Hey, Miss Lady," he answered, continuing with his usual long string of disjointed conversation. I did understand him to say he'd been robbed and all his rocks were stolen. (No doubt Doug and I are guilty, but not confessing.)
Kevin's mess was strewn on the steps, and he had a friend there too. It was a challenge, but I managed to step around the fellows and their belongings. Thankfully, Doug was quick to open the door for me. Kevin is downright dirty today. His hands and fingernails are black! I'm just not accustomed to seeing him so very dirty. At one point during our numerous encounters, I saw his young friend offer him some deodorant. That was a first!
Doug and I spent our first hour sacking PBJs and meat-sandwich lunches...while he vented heavily about the office lady "intruding" on his day alone there. Apparently, he feels a lot of pressure when the office folks are around; the place has regulations, and while they are written in stone but seldom followed… it's just that they exist. Kinda puts a body on edge. NOT that we were breaking any regulations!
There are tons of donated foods in the coolers. Doug was very late deciding what to serve for lunch, and that put him in a tizzy, but once his plan was on the stove, he calmed down. We had donated fried chicken, cornbread muffins and fresh sliced fruits. I boiled 2 dozen eggs, and we heated pinto beans. The food was well received.
Our residents are beginning to show change, and their number has increased. No youth today, and Fancy Lady was also missing; however, a friend of hers (new to me and just eat up with rheumatoid arthritis) came to the counter to ask if I might save some boiled eggs for Fancy. She has asked for those, you know. So I gave a bag of four eggs to Gatekeeper to save for Fancy.
Gatekeeper is still with us, still calm and just riding easy in that saddle. We might get to keep him for awhile. That would be lovely. He reminds me of a cousin; let's call him Richard.
Our "little old lady" who is toothless came to ask for a special favor, and that was the high point of my day. "Can you get me a Dr. Pepper? It's got prune juice in it, and it does right by me. If I mix it with a cup of coffee, I'm good."
I assured her that I had a good understanding of her need and fetched her a 12-ounce bottle with a screw-on cap, so she could save some for later. We even whispered about the rules of taking food and drinks from the dining room and how she'd need to hide that. She assured me she didn't want any roaches(!) in her room, so she had a plan already in place. If only you could see this wee person whose eyes sparkle with life as a child's—her consistent cheer, her refusal to acknowledge any rigors of homelessness.
All three of the young folks from the hotel across the street came for a lunch plate. It appears that their boss and one of the others may still work there, but the third one is just hanging out with his buds. They're behaving themselves, and prison may have done them some good. The kitchen was crowded for awhile, but they are good company.
When lunch was over at 12:30, Doug and I were cleaning and working toward filling the dinner plates, but we had a number of interruptions. Kevin pounded on the back door to ask for ice and drink. He also wanted a sack lunch for his friend on the steps. I gave the guys plenty of ice, food and drinks and returned to cleaning. Around 1:00, our young gal with the service dog came through the dining-room door in a housecoat, looking for all the world like a sick child who needed her mommy.
I cannot get in too deeply with their personal issues, so I simply gave her the foods she wanted. We had not yet dispensed with the leftovers. She was very picky—two of these, only one of those, none of that. She gave some of the foods a nauseous look, but seemed purely hungry for others. I didn't question her, but we don't pamper folks like that as a rule. Before I could turn around, I noticed that the girl and her foods had disappeared! My mistake.
Another knock at the door revealed a thin young woman who wanted a sack lunch and a drink. She smiled warmly and thanked me. But, you know, she might be the next one with a slit throat… Where is the answer to this homeless, drug-addicted problem?
After that, Doug cleaned up the serving counter and threw away what little was left, though he'd kept two plates in the warming oven. Then a fellow came in from a long morning at church, and he wanted one of the plates plus a sack lunch! He said he certainly could eat that much food because he's hypoglycemic (needs protein and no sugar). He ate everything, then returned to ask for sweets. I morphed into his mother and gave him some gum. No cookies for you! He left happy.
Then we had yet another late arrival—a most unusual young person we call "she/her" who is new there and who has not shown evidence of good manners. She questioned me at length and with a poor attitude about why we didn't have any lunch left. I gave her a sack lunch, she loaded her arms with FOUR soft drinks and walked out, right in front of me and Richard, while we raised our voices telling her that was forbidden!
Someone said she takes drinks and food to "the people out front."
Still, Doug and I needed to plate dinner, but Kevin got in the picture again. Kevin is as drunk as a skunk today, and Doug spent at least 10 minutes gently reprimanding him and extracting promises of better behavior. Kevin gave Doug a fist bump, and they shook hands. I got my hand sanitizer and stood by, but that dressing down took a lot longer than I expected.
I grabbed an opportunity to speak with Kevin's friend. He's a handsome young man who is clear-eyed and healthy. I told him that he was obviously sober and able to do better than hang around with Kevin. I told him he needs to get his life in order and get a place of his own. "He's had a place of his own!" Kevin said, perhaps proudly. The young man agreed with me. I hope he understood that I believe he can do better; I believe he can overcome whatever thing has brought him to these back stairs with Kevin. I believe in him. It's all I can do.
Finally, Doug and I plated the foods he'd had warming all morning: sweet potatoes, ham, corn and a biscuit on each of 38 plates. I could not believe it was well after 2 o'clock before I could take off my apron. What a full, full day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
