Monday nights I spend with a group of people at the very bottom of American society, when I oversee a homeless shelter in the basement of an inner-city church on St. Louis’ Delmar Boulevard. It’s not a restful experience, though the nights are usually quiet, and it takes a couple of naps on Tuesdays to allow me to recover. A typical night goes like this:
I arrive at the church at 6 pm, open the shelter office and greet my coworkers. There are usually two; an overnight volunteer and an evening volunteer who leaves at 9:30 or ten. We have a checklist to go over to help prepare for the women we serve (we refer to them as “guests”), reminding us to check the tissue in the toilet stalls, disinfect the showers, start a wash load of shelter linens, prepare decaffeinated coffee, and heat dinner for up to 16 guests and the three of us staff. During this first half hour, I also check phone messages and review the previous week in the logbook we keep. Last week, for instance, I discovered that one of the women got into an argument with the Saturday night team leader and was removed from the shelter by police escort (Yes, it happens on my night as well. My most notorious incident was over ten years ago when I stopped a fight by putting my head between the chair-flinging culprit and her intended victim. As soon as I quit seeing stars, I restrained the guilty party and called the police).
At 6:30, I go to the main entrance on Delmar and let our guests in (some of whom have been impatiently ringing the doorbell for the previous ten minutes). They are eager to be off the street, and though some of them complain about the shelter, the staff and the food, they are genuinely glad to be out of the cold (and it is warm here; at over 70 degrees, it is always at least 15 degrees warmer than I keep my own house). Once everyone is present and accounted for, new guests have been introduced to the rules and services, and the first loads of guests’ laundry are chugging in the washers, we serve dinner. The food is also supplied by volunteers (though occasionally they don’t show up and we have to dip into the emergency budget and order pizza), and for the most part it is tasty, nutritious and filling (though occasionally we’ll have the same thing – lasagna or chili, for instance – too many nights in one week and the guests will gripe). Last night we had comfort food - pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, marinated vegetable salad, jello salad and yellow cake with chocolate frosting (yum!). After dinner, we packed up what was left of the pork with slices of bread and added oranges, apples and homemade cookies for bag lunches for the ladies to take today.
The rest of the evening is spent turning down the lights, settling disputes, counseling, consoling, fetching necessities from the storeroom and getting the laundry room emptied of its now clean garments. At 10:30, the lights go out and the difficult task of sleep is at hand.
It's an intimate connection to others, working in a homeless shelter. From my berth in the office, I hear every cough, toss, turn, and shuffling trip to the toilet, all night long. I lie on a narrow cot and think about the needs and personalities of the women under my charge. They come from all sorts of places but have wound up here at the bottom of society’s heap. They are on the streets, dependent on others for their daily bread. I like these women, though, even when they frustrate and aggravate me. I wonder what will become of them. I think of those from past years whom I no longer see here. Are they dead or moved to another city? A homeless shelter is frequently the last stop before the grave.
By the time my alarm goes off at 4:58 the following morning, I’ve already asked several of the women to quit smoking (not allowed between 10:30pm and 5am) please not rustle their belonging bags, and don’t turn the light on again, please. Breakfast cereals and bag lunches are put out and real coffee provided to get the day started. I count out two bus tickets for each of the guests (a major part of our budget) and get the checklist ready. Then it’s out into the cold again, as our guests return to the streets. Six o’clock is here and the shelter is closed until the next night’s crew arrives.
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