This is the fourth installment of this series!
There are some interesting developments at the Shelter, but first I must bring up something of extreme importance to me.
My brown socks have disappeared.
I can understand one sock going out into the world on its own, to make its fortune, but two socks do not go together. It never happens. I suspect the influence of Satan.
Ok, now to the update.
The twins, Tim and Tom, have been arguing since they got there. One is always making fun of the other and they have to stand face to face and “represent,” or whatever. This morning it came to blows… with a broom. Yes, Tim hit Tom in the leg with the broom handle, twice. All I did was yell, “Guys!” but several of the other guys broke it up. One had to disarm Tim.
Later either Tim or Tom (who can tell) was talking to me all upset about the shelter manager telling them to get a job this week. He said he was going to leave because he didn’t “have to take his shit.” And then he added that he didn’t want to go get a job today because he wasn’t going to walk in the rain. I guess he would rather sleep in the rain.
We have a new guy, Tex. He’s a largish truck driver with red hair… from Texas.
Tex showed up for dinner last night at 6pm and then vanished before cleanup and show up at 7pm. The shelter manager called him on it and his response was that he didn’t know what time it was. Then he failed to show up for 9pm devotion. Then this morning he didn’t notice the lights were turned on, the manager saying, “Good morning, gentlemen,” the arguing between the twins, the various man-farts and obligatory laughter, and other stuff. He slept through morning devotion at 6:15am.
So the shelter manager had another talk with him and gave him a copy of the rules he signed.
So Tex got all upset and was saying things about the Salvation Army not being a Christian organization, and being hypocrites and such, and that if he gets kicked out he’s going to, “beat [the manager’s] ass.”
I thought about that for a little while and then suggested to the shelter manager that he have some guys around if he needs to kick Tex out. I don’t like gossip, I don’t like snitching, but this was a threat, so I thought it was okay to warn the manager. The manager said something like, “Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time and it won’t be the last.” He wasn’t worried at all. Cool. I like him.
The manager is really a great guy. I don’t know how he puts up with all this without losing his head. I guess that’s why he’s the manager.
We have a 30-something Mexican guy in there who I’ll call Juan. Juan has the cleanest white leather tennis shoes in town. Every night he scrubs them each for like 10 minutes and then applies polish.
Ray had to pawn his sun glasses. That’s okay, they were a little scratched.
George is upset because the social services director won’t let him spend any money on eating out for lunch. He’s broke because he had to get the heater fixed in his car. The state ended his food stamps because he makes too much money.
The food stamps thing has a catch 22 in it which I don’t think can be avoided. If you have a job, and you get a few extra hours or a small raise, then you can lose your food stamps. So, an extra $20 per week, or $90 per month, can cost you $200 in food stamps. It seems perhaps that could be avoided by having some sort of scale with a finer granularity. I’m not complaining though and George certainly didn’t. He was just frustrated that he’s not allowed to spend money on food. I don’t blame him.
Dan is Dan. I wish I could help Dan. He’s a painter, but I think his age is catching up to him. He says his hands hurt every morning. I suspect he couldn’t hold a brush all day again. His other skills are motorcycle riding and surfing, and I don’t think 52 year old guys get paid very often to do either.
We now have Randall in the shelter. He’s black which I only mention because he has a problem with the white shelter manager. He’s frequently complaining about when white men get a little power they use it to mistreat the black man. Apparently this country has a history of mistreating people of color… and it’s still going on. When a white shelter manager asks you to help with cleanup after dinner, it is because of racism. I’ve learned this. Randall showed the manager, he got up and did help and then continued cleaning various parts of the shelter for a couple of extra hours. The manager didn’t notice. Sorry, Randall. I’m sure the manager’s failure to notice and acknowledge your contribution was, obviously, no other conclusion is possible, racism. No, it’s Racism with a capital “R.”
With all due respect to African Americans, please think carefully when you equate being required to do what everyone else is required to do with the systematic disenfranchisement and suppression of your race and culture. Randall made himself look like a real ass that night.
If you see a pair of brown socks, bound together in a cool ball, then they might be mine.
Next: Life in the Homeless Shelter, Part 5
** UPDATE ADDED 6/6/A 6:46pm **
My brown socks eventually reappeared in the top of the trash bag I in which I transported my clothes to my new roommate, Robert’s, house in mid December. This made no sense. I figured God thought it was time for me to have my socks back. I used to joke that I only had 14 things and 11 of them were socks.
I love you. I really do.
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