This is the first entry in a running pseudo-journal I want to start about my job at the homeless shelter. Eventually I'd like to edit it into a memoir book, but for now, I'll post them here in their raw formats, written the night of the events I mention. These are real people I'm talking about, and even though I'm only using first names, I've changed them for the purposes of this posting, just to be safe.
You see it in the corners: the moments of quiet, of realization, of reflection, of sadness. Anderson is having one of those right now. In the dining room, a choir called Pizzazz is putting on a little mini-Christmas show, singing carols and entertaining most of the residents still in the shelter on this Friday night. I pause for a few moments to watch them one of the girls singing is pretty cute take in the pleasant looks on the faces of most of the residents, then shuffle on my way to the office at the other end of the shelter we call the Bubble. On my way I see Anderson, sitting on a folding chair in the corner of the hallway, arms crossed before him, staring blankly ahead, eyes slightly cast downward. One room over everyones having a good time, but hes out here, alone, being bombarded by his thoughts.
This could be ascribed to depression, that demon that afflicts not only those who have no home but those who have one, those who have many, and people from every walk of life in between. You see it here, though, and you know its different. Sometimes it will be Jess, in the corner made by two brick walls that line the tiny playground outside, sitting in a folding chair as her four kids and two others shes watching for another resident play. Shell keel over and put her face in her hands, having what I call a reality moment. They strike without warning one moment youre going about your daily business, the next it hits you out of nowhere: youre homeless. It can be a lot to handle, especially for someone like Jess, who lived with her partner Heather and their five kids in a house until it recently burned down and are one of the many thousands who have found themselves homeless for the first time in this long economic recession.
This time, its Anderson, a proud, angry father of a four-month old who has a nasty habit of stirring the pot whenever he sees anyone around him upset at the tiniest detail of shelter life. Ive had my battles with him, but Ive also had friendly conversations with him about everything from UFC fights to downtown restaurants. Ive seen him walk down the hallway seething in anger before, Ive seen him engaged in epic shouting matches with Angi, the mother of his child and possibly the only person in the shelter, resident or staff alike, who can go toe-to-toe with him when hes at his worst. But Ive never seen him like this before: distant, depressed lonely? I consider speaking to him, but think better of it. Hes not the type to share his feelings with another guy one of the female staff members, maybe, but not another man. Besides, Im too busy.
I make my way down the hallway, and before I cover 50 feet or so to the Bubble I already have three people calling my name. Mister Austin, I need wipes. Mister Austin, can you open the tote room? Mister Austin, theres no toilet paper in the womens bathroom. This hallway stinks it passes by the open-doored restrooms, and for all I know another mother has disposed of a dirty diaper casually in one of the trash cans instead of wrapping it up and tossing it in the dumpster outside. Im the only staff member on the floor right now, which means that Ill be hearing my name called by multiple people for the next few hours.
We have over 160 residents at the moment, a good 50 of them children, and were in Code Blue a situation that goes into effect when its 32 degrees or below outside, meaning we have to take in women, children, and families if they just walk up to the door without a call or a referral from the Department of Social Services. We have two staff members present to manage the entire shelter, and one of them is the assistant manager, which means shell be in the managers office for most of the night. Theres usually another staff member with me, a woman named Tami, but shes been working in the kitchen from 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM while our full-time chef is on vacation, so, for all intents and purposes, tonight its just me.
Im usually good at keeping calm thats one of the things that a lot of the residents like about me, that I dont add to the chaos but at one point tonight I lose my cool. A woman named Tarya needs water to help make formula for her baby. The gallons were supposed to use for this situation have somehow been piled upon by numerous boxes that will take entirely too long to move, so I grab four 20-ounce bottles of water that are supposed to be for staff from one of the extra bathrooms weve temporarily converted to a storage room and hand them to her. Five minutes later she comes back and asks for four more. Frustrated again, Im being buffeted by calls for help I unlock the room again and shove two more bottles into her hands, then spin on my heels and attempt to rush back into the hallway to unlock the tote room where all the residents who sleep on mats on the floor instead of in one of the three massive bedrooms keep totes with their belongings where a line of six people has already formed in the cramped, narrow hallway. I only filled half the bottles, Tarya complains. I need at least two more.
Im not even supposed to give you those, I point out, this tiny little wrinkle just enough to get under my skin and raise my heat index.
You could actually move those boxes and get to the gallons that were supposed to have, she says testily. Shes frustrated too, and this makes her just a little eager to yank on my nerves. It works.
Jesus Christ, I shout, knowing that bothers her. I spin around and give her two more bottles. Thats it, Ive got other things to do.
I shouldnt have let that get to me, but I did, so I just cast the guilt aside and move on. Its always the little things that send me over. A couple fighting, a resident acting up to a staff member, a mother neglecting or harming her kid, these things I can handle just fine. But on this night, being the only one to handle this and everything else under the moon, this stupid issue of parting with two more bottles of water makes me lose it. I should have kept a better handle on myself, but oh well, its passed, and I dont have time to dwell on it.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, Jess half-runs by the Bubble and asks if Ive seen Kay. Kayis 11, though if you heard he speak, youd swear she was at least 15 girls smart, and much more mature than many of the adults around here, even though she can have a zany sense of humor. She and her two brothers, John, 5, and Cale, 2, live here with her aunt, Becca, and Beccas mother, Enid. Kays mother died a few months ago she was found lying face-down in a ditch. I never learned the specifics of how or why she came to be that way, but I do know that her life was not an easy one. Theres a reason Kay and her brothers were here with Becca and Enid even while Kays mother was alive.
This is the first holiday season without her, though, and Kays been having a rough time. She rarely lets show just how much shes dealing with in life shes quite giggly, and smiles even when shes annoyed, but lately Ive realized that, oftentimes, this smile is a mask to cover the quick assaults of hurt that get to her. Now shes disappeared, so I drop what I was doing and help look for her. I tell Jess to check outside, just to the left of the playground, where Kay likes to go sometimes.
I make a sweep of the outside, and soon enough find Kay right where I said shed be, talking to Jess despite the below-freezing temperatures out here. I catch Jess eye, ask with my own if everythings all right, and she nods. I let her speak to Kay in privacy. Jess knows a thing or two about these reality moments.
Later that night I talk to Kays aunt, Becca, whom Ive known since I first started working at the shelter almost nine months ago. Shes a woman of grace, whos stronger than most here, and smarter. Her whole family are some of my favorite people here. But even shes showing signs of cracking. I mention to her that I think Kay might need to see a counselor, and Becca sadly nods. I know, she says quietly. Ive been trying to get us all into a family session, but my mothers insurance hasnt been accepted by anyone.
I start off by mentioning how amazed I am at the way in which Kay has handled everything shes been through in the past year, then sit back and let Becca do something she rarely ever does vent. She tells me about the custody battle shes been fighting with Kays father, who was willing to turn over all three kids to Becca in exchange for having to make no child support payments. But now hes holding this up, claiming hell only do this if he gets all the money thats being held in escrow since his wifes death nearly $4,000, which was supposed to help pay for the kids needs. Becca goes on about the horrible thoughts shes had of chopping this man up with a machete and scattering his limbs across the forest. You know me, Austin, Im not like that, she says, and I agree. But I have a dark side, and this man just brings it out. It doesnt take much to realize that, aside from her justified anger at her piece-of-shit brother-in-law (who once shoved his tongue down Kays throat when she was 8), Becca is also hurting deeply in this first holiday season without her sister.
Its already ten minutes past 11:00 PM, when my shift is over, but I dont mind staying a little late, even though it is Friday night. Im trying to avoid the temptation to go out and grab a drink or four Ive been dry all week, partly due to a severe lack of funds, but also because of a 12-hour hangover last Friday that made me consider cutting down a bit and this is a good way to keep my mind focused. As Im about to leave, though, Becca tells me that Kay adores me, and that their whole family has really appreciated the way I treat them, have since the day I started. I downplay it, but really, Im touched. I dont hear that often, but when I do, it means something to me.
I make it home without a stop by the bar.
You see it in the corners: the moments of quiet, of realization, of reflection, of sadness. Anderson is having one of those right now. In the dining room, a choir called Pizzazz is putting on a little mini-Christmas show, singing carols and entertaining most of the residents still in the shelter on this Friday night. I pause for a few moments to watch them one of the girls singing is pretty cute take in the pleasant looks on the faces of most of the residents, then shuffle on my way to the office at the other end of the shelter we call the Bubble. On my way I see Anderson, sitting on a folding chair in the corner of the hallway, arms crossed before him, staring blankly ahead, eyes slightly cast downward. One room over everyones having a good time, but hes out here, alone, being bombarded by his thoughts.
This could be ascribed to depression, that demon that afflicts not only those who have no home but those who have one, those who have many, and people from every walk of life in between. You see it here, though, and you know its different. Sometimes it will be Jess, in the corner made by two brick walls that line the tiny playground outside, sitting in a folding chair as her four kids and two others shes watching for another resident play. Shell keel over and put her face in her hands, having what I call a reality moment. They strike without warning one moment youre going about your daily business, the next it hits you out of nowhere: youre homeless. It can be a lot to handle, especially for someone like Jess, who lived with her partner Heather and their five kids in a house until it recently burned down and are one of the many thousands who have found themselves homeless for the first time in this long economic recession.
This time, its Anderson, a proud, angry father of a four-month old who has a nasty habit of stirring the pot whenever he sees anyone around him upset at the tiniest detail of shelter life. Ive had my battles with him, but Ive also had friendly conversations with him about everything from UFC fights to downtown restaurants. Ive seen him walk down the hallway seething in anger before, Ive seen him engaged in epic shouting matches with Angi, the mother of his child and possibly the only person in the shelter, resident or staff alike, who can go toe-to-toe with him when hes at his worst. But Ive never seen him like this before: distant, depressed lonely? I consider speaking to him, but think better of it. Hes not the type to share his feelings with another guy one of the female staff members, maybe, but not another man. Besides, Im too busy.
I make my way down the hallway, and before I cover 50 feet or so to the Bubble I already have three people calling my name. Mister Austin, I need wipes. Mister Austin, can you open the tote room? Mister Austin, theres no toilet paper in the womens bathroom. This hallway stinks it passes by the open-doored restrooms, and for all I know another mother has disposed of a dirty diaper casually in one of the trash cans instead of wrapping it up and tossing it in the dumpster outside. Im the only staff member on the floor right now, which means that Ill be hearing my name called by multiple people for the next few hours.
We have over 160 residents at the moment, a good 50 of them children, and were in Code Blue a situation that goes into effect when its 32 degrees or below outside, meaning we have to take in women, children, and families if they just walk up to the door without a call or a referral from the Department of Social Services. We have two staff members present to manage the entire shelter, and one of them is the assistant manager, which means shell be in the managers office for most of the night. Theres usually another staff member with me, a woman named Tami, but shes been working in the kitchen from 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM while our full-time chef is on vacation, so, for all intents and purposes, tonight its just me.
Im usually good at keeping calm thats one of the things that a lot of the residents like about me, that I dont add to the chaos but at one point tonight I lose my cool. A woman named Tarya needs water to help make formula for her baby. The gallons were supposed to use for this situation have somehow been piled upon by numerous boxes that will take entirely too long to move, so I grab four 20-ounce bottles of water that are supposed to be for staff from one of the extra bathrooms weve temporarily converted to a storage room and hand them to her. Five minutes later she comes back and asks for four more. Frustrated again, Im being buffeted by calls for help I unlock the room again and shove two more bottles into her hands, then spin on my heels and attempt to rush back into the hallway to unlock the tote room where all the residents who sleep on mats on the floor instead of in one of the three massive bedrooms keep totes with their belongings where a line of six people has already formed in the cramped, narrow hallway. I only filled half the bottles, Tarya complains. I need at least two more.
Im not even supposed to give you those, I point out, this tiny little wrinkle just enough to get under my skin and raise my heat index.
You could actually move those boxes and get to the gallons that were supposed to have, she says testily. Shes frustrated too, and this makes her just a little eager to yank on my nerves. It works.
Jesus Christ, I shout, knowing that bothers her. I spin around and give her two more bottles. Thats it, Ive got other things to do.
I shouldnt have let that get to me, but I did, so I just cast the guilt aside and move on. Its always the little things that send me over. A couple fighting, a resident acting up to a staff member, a mother neglecting or harming her kid, these things I can handle just fine. But on this night, being the only one to handle this and everything else under the moon, this stupid issue of parting with two more bottles of water makes me lose it. I should have kept a better handle on myself, but oh well, its passed, and I dont have time to dwell on it.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, Jess half-runs by the Bubble and asks if Ive seen Kay. Kayis 11, though if you heard he speak, youd swear she was at least 15 girls smart, and much more mature than many of the adults around here, even though she can have a zany sense of humor. She and her two brothers, John, 5, and Cale, 2, live here with her aunt, Becca, and Beccas mother, Enid. Kays mother died a few months ago she was found lying face-down in a ditch. I never learned the specifics of how or why she came to be that way, but I do know that her life was not an easy one. Theres a reason Kay and her brothers were here with Becca and Enid even while Kays mother was alive.
This is the first holiday season without her, though, and Kays been having a rough time. She rarely lets show just how much shes dealing with in life shes quite giggly, and smiles even when shes annoyed, but lately Ive realized that, oftentimes, this smile is a mask to cover the quick assaults of hurt that get to her. Now shes disappeared, so I drop what I was doing and help look for her. I tell Jess to check outside, just to the left of the playground, where Kay likes to go sometimes.
I make a sweep of the outside, and soon enough find Kay right where I said shed be, talking to Jess despite the below-freezing temperatures out here. I catch Jess eye, ask with my own if everythings all right, and she nods. I let her speak to Kay in privacy. Jess knows a thing or two about these reality moments.
Later that night I talk to Kays aunt, Becca, whom Ive known since I first started working at the shelter almost nine months ago. Shes a woman of grace, whos stronger than most here, and smarter. Her whole family are some of my favorite people here. But even shes showing signs of cracking. I mention to her that I think Kay might need to see a counselor, and Becca sadly nods. I know, she says quietly. Ive been trying to get us all into a family session, but my mothers insurance hasnt been accepted by anyone.
I start off by mentioning how amazed I am at the way in which Kay has handled everything shes been through in the past year, then sit back and let Becca do something she rarely ever does vent. She tells me about the custody battle shes been fighting with Kays father, who was willing to turn over all three kids to Becca in exchange for having to make no child support payments. But now hes holding this up, claiming hell only do this if he gets all the money thats being held in escrow since his wifes death nearly $4,000, which was supposed to help pay for the kids needs. Becca goes on about the horrible thoughts shes had of chopping this man up with a machete and scattering his limbs across the forest. You know me, Austin, Im not like that, she says, and I agree. But I have a dark side, and this man just brings it out. It doesnt take much to realize that, aside from her justified anger at her piece-of-shit brother-in-law (who once shoved his tongue down Kays throat when she was 8), Becca is also hurting deeply in this first holiday season without her sister.
Its already ten minutes past 11:00 PM, when my shift is over, but I dont mind staying a little late, even though it is Friday night. Im trying to avoid the temptation to go out and grab a drink or four Ive been dry all week, partly due to a severe lack of funds, but also because of a 12-hour hangover last Friday that made me consider cutting down a bit and this is a good way to keep my mind focused. As Im about to leave, though, Becca tells me that Kay adores me, and that their whole family has really appreciated the way I treat them, have since the day I started. I downplay it, but really, Im touched. I dont hear that often, but when I do, it means something to me.
I make it home without a stop by the bar.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
subrosa:
Do it do it.
mattacme:
So great, Brother.