Wake Up The King
Phil, the 57 year Vietnam veteran, has found a bed in the Paradise on Brookside. It is a shelter for the homeless run by the Catholic Charities. Even homeless, he still looks kingly, with his double color wavy hair parted in the middle and brushy eye brows almost knitted together. He has lost his shape of the teeth. Not the teeth, but the shape of them. All the teeth are ground down to leave only chiseled points and broken. They look like wolf teeth, if anyone imagines what the teeth of the wolf would be. His thin lips are protruding at the world as if regarding the daylight with disapproval. He has long and hawked nose, deep set eyes. When he looks at you, he narrows his eyes, parts his legs real wide, and raises his eye brows up and down at the same time, right, then left, right, then left. His eyes hide below his eye brows and leave a very serious impression that he is giving you his kingly regard. He speaks with a slur sometimes. Not that he stutters. He is chewing tobacco most of the time and he smiles a big chewing smile, and his chewing sometimes makes his speech less fluent and precise. He is fondly given the name “Ghetto King Phil”, to which he enjoys very much and behaves more and more in that effect. He starts to wear robe. It is not the dragon robe for the Heavenly Son of the lost Chinese Royals, nor the robe for the Kings of England or France of remote past. It is a bath robe. But it is apricot yellow, which is the royal yellow reserved for the Emperor in China before 1900. He wears his hair long over the ears, and styles his hair a bluish grey with streaks of yellow which blend strikingly with the rest of the head. He wears big rings on his fingers, big stones and diamonds inherited from his Highness mom. He is however, a king in the reform, and in the “retreat”. He is off drug for a successful three months, although his tobacco chewing habit is more established than before. Ghetto King Phil is very attentive to the world affairs and works till small hours in the morning, listening to the most democratic or less republican talk shows to stay on top of the international affairs. He has some leisure activities: watching video while eating popcorn in the TV room till lights off is one of them. He plays bass guitar too, very professionally, and attends AA meetings on many of the weekday nights. He collects many useful items such as boots and jeans, women sweaters and slippers, and generously gives them away. He rules his bed and the cases under his bed and his closet in a very sovereign, yet chaotic manner. He just let things pile up and then transfer them to the table and start to sort them out, and put them in small piles and sit for long moments pondering how and why he has so much things to rule. For all the things he has had, he one day discovers that he does not have an alarm clock. He never needs one because the shelter overseer keeps the most punctual time for the sake of the running of the place. 6.30am, the lights will be turned on, and by 10.30pm, after 3 warning off-on, off-on, and off-ons, the lights are off and within two minutes, snoring at a very large scale is heard all over the world and King Phil is drowned in his talk shows. However he has got a job and he has to wake up and get up early, no late than 6.30. Think of it, the King has to work. That kindly disgrace of the proletarian ethics.
It should not be a problem if he wakes up by 6.30 am, when the lights are turned on. But the King can’t, just as everyone else does, wake up, by the noise those lights generate. He stays in his sleep longer than the lights and if left on himself, he would never wake up until 1 pm in the afternoon. He has issued an order that he be waken up by 6.30 to the most alert resident of the Paradise, Miss Altera. She did not, however, think it necessary to carry out the decreed, since by 6.30, she assumes that the King is awake. So the King explains to her that he can’t be waken by lights. He must be awaken by her. To this order, Miss Alerta ignores. A Ghetto King has no real authority to demand her service. Ghetto King got himself an alarm clock and sat it at 6.am, to give him a 30 minutes allowance to become awaken.
For two mornings, his alarm set off as it is set and off it goes, off and off and on and on and on till about 80 measures, each measure lasts two seconds. It sounds as dou- dou- and douddoudou, doudoudou. with each measure its temper goes faster and more urgent and more demanding. It does not sound as loud as the fire alarm, nor as loud as the siren. But when the Hall is still cozy under graying darkness, the alarm sounds exactly like an alarm. It is jarring , demanding, unquieting, and alarming. It seems going on and on, and any moment it’s supposed to stop, it does not. It is supposed to alarm the King up to his sense and he will turn it off, but he is not being disturbed at all. It is a bizarre situation only to be encountered in Paradise at Brookside. For one thing, the good residents are holding their breathe under the daily conditioning of self discipline. On the other hands, out of the daily exhaustion of roaming homeless, foodless, jobless, or of being fully engaged in job-hunting, house-hunting, and food-collecting, net-working, emotional taxing, no one is yet, after a full 3 minutes of being alarmed, having any initiatives to interfere.
The shelter is dark and silent, but by no means quiet. Compared to the night tranquility thickened by different levels of intensity of snoring, the big communal living room for all the residents are heavy with disturbance. From the four corners of the building, agitation is felt, beds squeezing, bodies flipping, and then a baby’s cry is heard. It is from the two months old baby Matthew. He is the only one who is not going to hold his breathe. He is disturbed and he protests from his crib behind the closed doors of the individual dorms for the families with kids.
Two male residents raise themselves up while the alarm was in full blast. They are not, however, paying any attention. They rise from their bed to go to the rest room before rushing outdoors for their first drag of the day. The overseer of the shelter is a new recruit of one day experience. He does not know quite what to do. He just graciously waits and waits hoping any minute the alarm would wake up the King and be turned off. He seems to be thinking of whether intervention is necessary When he does nothing to interfere, other residents are not making moves, behaving like English, just wait and wait, gentlemen walk, they never run. Eventually, Navaho, one of the residents throws her blanket away and sits up on her upper bunk bed. She waits and waits, thinking any minute the King might wake up and turn that damned clock off. But nothing happens except the annoying alarm , steadily and urgently sounds its alarm. Hope is higher and higher with each measure of alarm piecing the surprised unrest. “That damned thing must be made in Japan. “ Navaho thinks. “Made in China” would have stopped at 40 measures and only the Japanese doing a hard job to keep their competitiveness longer
After another 10 measure of alarms, Ghetto King’s snore rise above the alarm. It sounds fuller and fuller, more glorious and thundering, more intimidating and unchecked by any human decency and gracious tolerance. This is too much. The alarm is becoming a crime of public offense that unnecessarily disturbs the residents. Navaho could not hold herself up any more, she looks up and down, trys to get hold of her stuffed animals. She has placed them too far to reach, so she has to pick up her pillows and throws it at the Ghetto King. But it produces no effect. At this moment, Sam, the Ethiopian prince, in a position of prime minister on a chess board, is eventually aroused into erecting himself out of his bed and put his big palm on the throat of the King and chocks the King into gasping and therefore into opening his eyes and mouth at the same time.
This trick works and the Ghetto King jerks himself into the fear of a murder or in the good consciousness of pacifying the deeply disturbed sleeping public, putting his guitar bass plugging fingers over the Damned made-in-Japan and grubbing or another 5 second to find where the off switch is. At this moment, the whole house woke up and suddenly there was a deadly silence without any sound, either from the alarm, or from the residents. The Ghetto King is resurrected from his bed and he stands on his bare feet. As if in wakefulness, he slips his feet into a pair of kitty head slippers and flips and flops to the man’s room, the slipper mows and mows like kitty while he walks in them.
The next night, or rather the following morning of the next night, the same thing happen again. The Ghetto King’s impotence of hearing is widely publicized now and he got 4 stuffed monkeys thrown at him and two more landed on the neighboring bed where German Scholar sleeps. James, President of the Man’s room, goes right up to the King’s bed, ready to straggle him up into standing up. Before he is able to enclose his hands on the King, the house overseer Mr. B.B stops him and goes ahead himself to place the alarm clock close at the King’s ear. To his despair, the King’s ears are plugged and being blasted by the radio that is broadcasting the morning news. Under such heavy volume of noise, the King is still snoring. Mr. B.B. shakes the King into wakefulness and makes the declaration of attention that the alarm clock not to be used to awake everyone else but its owner, and the King be responsible for his own alarm management. By then, the whole house is wild awake. The lights are on and the residents are on their beds watching the King being dragged out of his double layer comforter of feather by one dignified female resident who threatens to kill the King if he keeps turning an deaf ear to the noise the alarm clock make. Novaro demands that the King returns the stuffed animals she throws at him. Ghetto King good humouredly throws them back at her as if she is the wide receiver from the 49ers. She reckons him to come over and asks him why he needs an alarm clock, since he doesn’t need to get up before the lights of the house turned on .”The King does not wake up by himself, nor by the alarm clock. but alarm clock is the only way to get me up by waking someone else to wake me up.” he explains without any embarrassment.
Showing posts with label shelter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shelter. Show all posts
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
WHEN COMMON SENSE FAILS， RULES RULE
WHEN COMMON SENSE FAILS， RULES RULE
Mr. Doolittle has been experimenting with the policy “when common sense fails, rules rule” for the last two months and it seemed to have worked very effectively. His conviction of the policy came from his own firsthand experience in a homeless shelter. The site manager of a homeless shelter in God’s county for 8 years，Mr. Doolittle has operated under the guidance of a church charity which has proudly encouraged all its followers to get involved in organized benevolence.
Mr. Doolittle is trying to gain more insights into human nature while implementing creative ways of governing, which in the shelter, is modestly job-described as overseeing. He believes that salvation should come from a higher consciousness of being than as the result of the lust to rule, or even worse, punish. The lust to rule, to him, is a lower form of social reality, a reality tragically grown out of necessity to impose. Like a car, you need the wheels as well as the brake to move without being killed. His practice ensures that people get plenty of leg room to find out common sense is the brake, and self-governing is the best way to survival in a communal situation, most of the time rather packed.
Most people live in homes, families of spouses and children, in their houses, or apartments. No matter where you live, there are set of rules openly or secretly negotiated back and forth between or among the members sharing that space. In the instance of his own family, he believed that his Mom had more common sense, but his Dad ruled because he was the one who brought home the bacon. But Mom’s governing style has distilled into him a sense of common sense and because of a natural alliance of mother and son relationship, he unconsciously followed his Mom’s vision to navigate through life.
Mr. Doolittle is recently promoted to the senior staff statue-the-coordinating supervisor. Now with all the other site managers under him, he is happily sandwiched between the boss and old pals. He stations himself professionally in an office, where high shelves are fully stocked with used but clean blankets, sheets, towels donated by the Holiday Inn, and food from the food bank. The office used to be a two-car garage and this is where he has contemplated human behaviors and preached his private gospel of God’s grace: “God cannot give us any other help than self-help.” He loves this little quotation by Thoreau--the woods poet. He draws a lot of poetic inspiration from him while alone in the office. There are two kinds books he reads, the little book by Thoreau on Man and Nature and all the volumes of Preys serials by James Pergerson, a good combination of insights in his boss’s eyes.
Thoreau’s poetic simplicity in living in and with nature and Prey’s confessional revelation of predator’s nature keep his mind well balanced. He was drinking his tea when one client knocked emotionally on the door, complaining that the other site manager was giving her a hard time concerning the issue of cleaning the bath room. She got a write-up for not fully completing her chore and it greatly upset her.
“Yes, dear, what’s the matter?” Mr. Doolittle very cordially leaned his head towards the lady to lend her his big, car door ear. He would have an earful of blabla and blabla. He knew that from his experience. And he did develop a good habit to listen with great attention, and polished grace. He had been helping the running of people‘s lives. To him, this is of great importance. In fact, he did not get much of his own to run. He did not have a wife, did not have children, and had no romance at this moment. But he has been spiritually heavily yoked to a mission to serve the poor and the needy and this has been a solid anchor in the stormy water of life.
“Yes, my dear?” he asked again. His very cozy, family oriented attitude took that lady by surprise. She had a conviction that the other site manager was pushing her around, and she got to find some justice.
“Fanny, Ms. Fanny, what’s the matter, my dear?”
“Oh, the bath room, the toil, the stool, and TP in the trash can, oh, …”
“What about it?”
“So dirty and soiled. I am not going to do the dirty job. Why me, people have to clean after themselves. And they haven’t learned to flush the toil yet after they’ve done their jobs. ”
“Yeah, yeah, people are people. We know those people. They take this place as their home and they do the same thing as if they were still in their own houses.”
“No, I don’t think that’s what they think. They wouldn’t do this in their own houses. It is only because they know there is a chore list, and I just happen to be the one to clean the shit. You need to go in and see for yourself who did it. I am not going to do the dirty work. I am not…”
This has been the routine, the number one issue in family shelter. With at least three families sharing a house, some issues bound to come up. Cooking time, loud TV at night, showers either too early about 4 o’clock in the morning, or too late when a line formed outside the bathroom for the morning urges, baby running out of room in winter with nothing on but diapers, smoky stinky socks that knocked people off, and the number one issue, always, the number one issue, who took the Toilet trash out.
“Ms. Fanny, calm down, my dear, would you? Yes, that’s it, calm down. What about I do it , and would that make you happier for the day ?”
Ms. Fanny stood there with her eyes blinking. Her tears were on the verge of dropping. She was not quite sure to wipe them or to let them fall. They were so lovely, they were real tears, tear of sorrow and tears of joy. Mr. Doolittle always thought woman’s tears had the effect of sun on snow. It could melt a hard boiled soul in seconds. Someone like Mr. Doolittle always retained a soft spot for tears, especially female‘s tears. That spot reacts easily to the clouds that carry rain drops.
Ms Fanny became a little bashful. But what else could she do but stuck to her guns that she was not going to clean other people’s shit? She felt a bit too tight in her chest, a squeeze between her conscience and her expensive up-brining. She told everybody she had been a very expensive lady before and led a very expensive life, and used to have three household maids to clean and cook when she lived in Lisbon. But she gave up everything to marry an American, and he dumped her afterwards. She looked at Mr. Doolittle with lamentable eyes and said in a little girlish voice that she appreciated the concerns that Mr. Doolittle showed her towards the issue and she would do her job next time if he could warn other resident to flush the toilet after they had performed their bodily functions.
It was Monday evening. The compulsory house meeting was in process. All the single male residents , or clients as they came to be called, in other two houses, filed one after another into A house, a house three families were sharing. All the chairs were laid out, they were taken quietly. Everyone sniffed off their cigarette butts while having hot coffee in the cups in their hands. Not much conversation was going on. There were female residents and two babies. Men’s rowdiness seemed automatically balanced off towards polite indifference, or rather, intended inattention.
Mr. Doolittle was chairing the meeting. He coughed a dry cough and started “Have we any new comers today?” He cast his eyes to the left and to the right. Two hands raised. “Welcome, welcome to our shelter, you all know the routines, routines , this’s where we begin, let’s introduce ourselves to our fellow travelers, folks.” A light-hearted running down of names by their owners went clock-wise and people were really polite and affirmative in their voice.
“The same thing, as always, the old residents will tell you, our new comers, that we face the same old issues, always the same thing, the shower leaks, toilets flooded, no toilet paper , table manners, cooking privileges, the same things that go in any extended family. We are the big family, one family, of course, female residents and their babies, diapers and tampons. No baby dirty diapers in the trash can in the kitchen. How many times we have stressed that? For God’s sake, put the dirty diaper in a plastic bag and dump it immediately outside in the big trash can. Also, do I have to remind you again that you need to take shower everyday and use de-odorant for your BO’s? We got nine or ten big fully bodied guys in one house, there bound to be overdose of male odors. This is America, and we Americans are used to taking care of our hygiene seriously. Is that so, Ms China, you tell us since you are from a country with a long history and packed with millions and millions of people.” “Yes, ..” Ms. China blushed a little, and jumped into the dialogue with her rather good yet, with a distinctive Chinese flavor of English. She was non apologetic about her English. “Yes, I don’t mind share our wisdom of living in close quarters. The house will be good if everyone of us think of good manners. Good manners are very important when people live in groups. Some people will think good manners are bloody British imperialistic. No, they don’t own good manners. Good manners are natural result of social closeness, crowdedness, and packed existence. Good manners are lubricating the friction of our elbows and we need to own our good manners as part of our identities even when we are in shelters. This is where true manners are verified”. She sat down again and raised her head to Mr. Doolittle.
The door opened and Mr. Lincoln rolled himself in in a wheelchair. He was an old gizzard, as he called himself, a son of a San Francisco whore house madam, he proudly boasting to any one. He always enjoyed house meeting. It was a place he showed his years of life experience, a smart ass in the rough streets. He waves his hands to his fellow travelers as if he was on stage. He was most fond of the new site manager, an oriental woman, he secretly made himself fall for her. He called her Meili (meaning pretty in English) when she was not around. Meili was sitting besides Mr. Doolittle and returned his warm gaze with a vague smile.
Mr. Doolittle cleared his throat and looked at a piece of paper in his hands. It was a list of points to be address at the house meeting. House meetings were stages to him, where communal dialogues were conducted. In a country where individualism was the main stream of thinking, communal living for any extended period of time is always associated with confinements. Such confinements were usually associated with jails, prisons, reform programs or army barracks. Homeless shelters were in many sense truly communal living. The biggest shelter in this city housed about 160 singles, male or female in such closeness that it was tough for some people to adjust to. Homelessness in a way was a freer bargain with nature, as long as space was concerned. But the weather in North Bay was not very negotiable in winter. It rained a lot.
Mr. Doolittle had to address those psychological spots at every house meeting. It was here the voice of common sense was heard. “People complain about things, as always.” Mr. Doolittle took the stage. “We appreciate the fact that those complains brought to our attention, to the staff’s attention first. It is always best to settle our difference through the process of democracy. Our democracy is that everyone has a chance to speak. Well, today, the complain is, let me see, Refrigerator noise. Ah, refrigerator makes noise at night, well, what can we do about it. Do we need to do away with frig, or do we put up with the noise? Or can we do anything about the noise? Haven’t we addressed that issue many times before, through different angles and giving each ample consideration? Oh, yes, we have new residents and we have to do it all over again. Ok, let me see who can address the issue in a fresh light and come with smartest solution?”
“Yes, Mr. Willington, what do you say?”
“Check into a hotel room without frig.”
“Good suggestion, but I know you are kidding, aren’t you? Let’s have another suggestion, Mr. Washington, please.”
“Shut that damned thing down and eat spoiled food.”
“Mr. Washington’s suggestion is out of question so far as I can tell. Anyone for it? No? no body? No one is willing to kill the noise and eat the spoiled food. Common sense, common sense. Other suggestions? Mr. Lincoln?”
“Ear plug or learn to live with it. If you make yourself to listen to it, not to fight it, maybe you two can get along. I learned to go along with things instead of forcing it my way.”
“Very well, that’s a very good suggestion. Very good, full of common sense, and constructive and workable. Good. Then we can’t order the frig to be quiet, and we will have to learn to put up with it. Some evils in the life of mortals are necessary evils. One has to come to grip with this half-truth. The other half of the truth is that truthful evils are still evils. We still have to face them as factual truth since God does not seem to think it is not necessary for them to exist. So let’s live with necessary evils and the half truth and be truthful about them.” Mr. Doolittle was very satisfied to be able to deliver his message about the common sense. Such moments of reflection on God or truth always filled him with great delight. When truth was reflected by someone alone, it did not seem as profound as shared with millions and millions. It was a delightful experience to reveal truth to others when they were least expecting them. “Any more to say?” he looked at the faces turning up at him and smiled, “Next, smoke and got shut out. How has this happened?”
Mr. Lincoln raised his hands. He was a Vietnam War vet. He was in a wheelchair and could walk with the help of a walker. He spoke with a strained voice. “I got up to smoke and the door shut up, and I was locked out.”
“Did you lock it or someone locked it after you went out?”
“I did not lock it, I need to come in after a drag, of course I wouldn’t lock it. But someone did it and I was locked out 3 o’clock in the morning, and it was freezing cold and raining. I did not see anyone coming out. I did not quiet know what to do, to see the staff or just knock. To knock on the staff office door, or the door of B house, I waited and waited in the cold until some one came out for a drag.”
“Well, I personally believe this to be only an accident. We don’t encourage you to smoke at 3 o’clock in the morning. If you are quiet, and don’t wake up the house, you are ok with me. But if people start to complain about people coming in and out of the house at small hours, door opening and shutting, then we really have to talk to you to be more considerate of other people. This is common sense to be considerate of others. So, friends, make sure you understand when common sense fails, rules rule. If you people
make too much noise and start to disturb others, you are to face consequences. Ok, next, shower in the morning.”
“Yes,” one hand raised among the clients. “4 in the morning, someone is taking a shower. Is it really absolutely necessary to have shower in the morning that early. Can he take his shower at night? My bed is right next to the bathroom and there is only a very thin wall between me and the shower. I am not able to get enough sleep because I am awaken up at 4 in the morning.” It was Mr. Jefferson talking.
“Well, shower schedule is always an issue with us, one shower for 9 or 10 people in the same house. shower time has been a constant complain, a source of conflict. We will discuss this at our staff meeting next time and give you guys a guideline concerning the shower rules. Yes, Mr. Jefferson, what else do you want to say?”
“I think the bottom line is that when you live in B house or C house, with 10 people sharing one shower, and it is basically a time management. From 5 pm to next morning 9 am people will at any given time need to use the restroom. Especially in the morning, when nature calls, you got to go. I think we need rules about morning shower. I suggest a system that will work better than self determination of when to take a shower. I suggest that at least no shower after 6 in the morning and no shower early than 5am. I really don’t understand why you need to take shower in the morning when everybody will rush to the bathroom. One should take a shower in the evening or before 10 at night. Unless someone comes back from digging the ditches, he can take a shower before going to bed. I know that the women shelter Lily House doesn’t not allow anybody to take a shower in the morning. It really works. We should be able to do it too. If they have the habit of taking a shower in the morning after they get up, they can always change that habit as long as they get one shower a day. I don’t see why they can’t adjust. Come to think and to realize the true nature of living in the shelter, then you don’t have a hard time living with other 9 people in the same house with only one shower.”
“Very well said, Mr. Jefferson, you really got the fundamentals down. I am very impressed how articulate you are. Anyone can be more articulate than him? Yes, consideration for others and for the common peace and good. This is a whole new way of life living with other people in such closeness. But we are bound together for a common goal, that is to safely co-exist, save your money to have your own place and get out. Then we will not go after you about when you can take a shower or when you can smoke. That is the freedom of choice you purchase with your income. Money is the king, and cash speaks. I know it sounds republican, but this is the reality. I would not say it is the truth, but truth only reveal itself in ambiguity. And what we face is true human existence.”
“Who is running this shelter, the republicans or the democratic,” one voice shouted.
“The church charity. We are under the social arm of the church, the incorporated enterprise of the Redemption Worker’s Union. But we do not insist that you are religiously yoked to receive our service. We offer service to all the poor and needy. It is our republic’s heritage since we set our foot on this continent, we were, have been and are, at one time or another of our great history, homeless, until we won our independence for our British Mother Queen . “
“God bless your good heart, Mr. Doolittle.” Said, Mr. Carter and someone yearned. Ms Fanny raised her hand and said with great emotion “Adam took a show this morning after I clean the bath room, and left a mess. And because he was in the shower, my kid had to pee in the corner in the back yard. This is very frustrating.”
“Adam, did you or did not you take a show just before time to close the shelter?”
“Yes, you are damn right I did, but I got a job interview to go and I don’t want to smell bad.” Adam was still in his “Sunday” best.
“Good, good, it is really a common sense to take a shower before the job interview. As an one time thing, I won’t beat on you. But you should not do it everyday. And I personally have the confidence in your common sense not to abuse your shower privilege. Would you not take a shower in the morning just before we are closing? Adam? I know you answer is no, you would not, would you?”
“You damn right I won’t .”
“Yes, I know you. And the kids are kids, when they need to go, they have to go, so if we all bear in our minds try to make things easy for others, others will make things easy for you in return, that’s the golden rule, the rule of common sense.” Mr. Doolittle cleared his throat and looked at his watch.
“Ok, if we don’t have any more complains, let me finish our meeting by reminding all of you that there is no loitering around the neighborhood. It is very important that you remember this. Our neighbors have the right to veto our operation here if they file complains against us with the county. So make sure you all remember, Love your neighbor, and no loiter around the neighborhood. We are very grateful that they allow us to open this shelter here. So be grateful, guys and don’t screw up. Communal life means limited choice and restrained freedom, this is your reality and make sure you suck it in.”
“Then are we being discriminated” asked one client, Mr. Franklin.
“No, no way, we are not discriminating anybody. We only operate under the collective pressure to provide a peaceful shelter life. Our concern here is more on the issue of peace than freedom, which is not in anyway contradictory to the constitution. Full freedom is to the fully responsible citizens. When you don’t pay rent, don’t have a job, don’t pay tax, you are not fully exercising your citizen’s responsibilities. Then your freedom is compromised. This is the fact and come to term with it. The sooner you do it the better and the sooner, the happier you will feel. Well, do we have more to discuss today?”
“Yes, what about snoring, Mr. Clinton snores so loud, all of us have a hard time sleeping. We don’t know how to stop him without causing physical harm.”
“ Well, you all know that snoring is not a punishable crime. I am afraid that we can do really nothing about it. It is like the noise of refrigerator. You either put up with it, or what else, shut it off. Snoring is more difficult. We are really strangers coming together, Even spouse can do nothing about the snoring. I suggest that we make a scale of snoring intensity from 1 being the lightest to 5 the heaviest, and list it on our Intake form, so we would know who is of the heavy snoring habit. And try to group the snoring residents together. They don’t mind snoring if they snore themselves. At this moment, I can’t promise anything, let our common sense guides us and learn to adjust, ok?” Mr. Doolittle looked at Ms. China, and tilted his head. Ms. China shook her head.
“Well, folks, we had a very good meeting, common sense, common sense, if we have common sense, then we don’t need rules, do we? Any more issues? Mr. Einstein? Mr. Kennedy? Well, ladies, we all know that ladies full of common sense, any female issues to cover? No, Ms. Fanny? good, the meeting is over and you all have a good day.”
Everybody stood up , leaving the room, still trying to soak their brains in Mr. Doolittle’s wisdom.
Mr. Doolittle felt very good, he entered the following words in the log book “a good day, all are fine, no fights, no curses, no rats, President day, shelter stays open for the whole day. See you all on Thursday, Guys.”
Mr. Doolittle has been experimenting with the policy “when common sense fails, rules rule” for the last two months and it seemed to have worked very effectively. His conviction of the policy came from his own firsthand experience in a homeless shelter. The site manager of a homeless shelter in God’s county for 8 years，Mr. Doolittle has operated under the guidance of a church charity which has proudly encouraged all its followers to get involved in organized benevolence.
Mr. Doolittle is trying to gain more insights into human nature while implementing creative ways of governing, which in the shelter, is modestly job-described as overseeing. He believes that salvation should come from a higher consciousness of being than as the result of the lust to rule, or even worse, punish. The lust to rule, to him, is a lower form of social reality, a reality tragically grown out of necessity to impose. Like a car, you need the wheels as well as the brake to move without being killed. His practice ensures that people get plenty of leg room to find out common sense is the brake, and self-governing is the best way to survival in a communal situation, most of the time rather packed.
Most people live in homes, families of spouses and children, in their houses, or apartments. No matter where you live, there are set of rules openly or secretly negotiated back and forth between or among the members sharing that space. In the instance of his own family, he believed that his Mom had more common sense, but his Dad ruled because he was the one who brought home the bacon. But Mom’s governing style has distilled into him a sense of common sense and because of a natural alliance of mother and son relationship, he unconsciously followed his Mom’s vision to navigate through life.
Mr. Doolittle is recently promoted to the senior staff statue-the-coordinating supervisor. Now with all the other site managers under him, he is happily sandwiched between the boss and old pals. He stations himself professionally in an office, where high shelves are fully stocked with used but clean blankets, sheets, towels donated by the Holiday Inn, and food from the food bank. The office used to be a two-car garage and this is where he has contemplated human behaviors and preached his private gospel of God’s grace: “God cannot give us any other help than self-help.” He loves this little quotation by Thoreau--the woods poet. He draws a lot of poetic inspiration from him while alone in the office. There are two kinds books he reads, the little book by Thoreau on Man and Nature and all the volumes of Preys serials by James Pergerson, a good combination of insights in his boss’s eyes.
Thoreau’s poetic simplicity in living in and with nature and Prey’s confessional revelation of predator’s nature keep his mind well balanced. He was drinking his tea when one client knocked emotionally on the door, complaining that the other site manager was giving her a hard time concerning the issue of cleaning the bath room. She got a write-up for not fully completing her chore and it greatly upset her.
“Yes, dear, what’s the matter?” Mr. Doolittle very cordially leaned his head towards the lady to lend her his big, car door ear. He would have an earful of blabla and blabla. He knew that from his experience. And he did develop a good habit to listen with great attention, and polished grace. He had been helping the running of people‘s lives. To him, this is of great importance. In fact, he did not get much of his own to run. He did not have a wife, did not have children, and had no romance at this moment. But he has been spiritually heavily yoked to a mission to serve the poor and the needy and this has been a solid anchor in the stormy water of life.
“Yes, my dear?” he asked again. His very cozy, family oriented attitude took that lady by surprise. She had a conviction that the other site manager was pushing her around, and she got to find some justice.
“Fanny, Ms. Fanny, what’s the matter, my dear?”
“Oh, the bath room, the toil, the stool, and TP in the trash can, oh, …”
“What about it?”
“So dirty and soiled. I am not going to do the dirty job. Why me, people have to clean after themselves. And they haven’t learned to flush the toil yet after they’ve done their jobs. ”
“Yeah, yeah, people are people. We know those people. They take this place as their home and they do the same thing as if they were still in their own houses.”
“No, I don’t think that’s what they think. They wouldn’t do this in their own houses. It is only because they know there is a chore list, and I just happen to be the one to clean the shit. You need to go in and see for yourself who did it. I am not going to do the dirty work. I am not…”
This has been the routine, the number one issue in family shelter. With at least three families sharing a house, some issues bound to come up. Cooking time, loud TV at night, showers either too early about 4 o’clock in the morning, or too late when a line formed outside the bathroom for the morning urges, baby running out of room in winter with nothing on but diapers, smoky stinky socks that knocked people off, and the number one issue, always, the number one issue, who took the Toilet trash out.
“Ms. Fanny, calm down, my dear, would you? Yes, that’s it, calm down. What about I do it , and would that make you happier for the day ?”
Ms. Fanny stood there with her eyes blinking. Her tears were on the verge of dropping. She was not quite sure to wipe them or to let them fall. They were so lovely, they were real tears, tear of sorrow and tears of joy. Mr. Doolittle always thought woman’s tears had the effect of sun on snow. It could melt a hard boiled soul in seconds. Someone like Mr. Doolittle always retained a soft spot for tears, especially female‘s tears. That spot reacts easily to the clouds that carry rain drops.
Ms Fanny became a little bashful. But what else could she do but stuck to her guns that she was not going to clean other people’s shit? She felt a bit too tight in her chest, a squeeze between her conscience and her expensive up-brining. She told everybody she had been a very expensive lady before and led a very expensive life, and used to have three household maids to clean and cook when she lived in Lisbon. But she gave up everything to marry an American, and he dumped her afterwards. She looked at Mr. Doolittle with lamentable eyes and said in a little girlish voice that she appreciated the concerns that Mr. Doolittle showed her towards the issue and she would do her job next time if he could warn other resident to flush the toilet after they had performed their bodily functions.
It was Monday evening. The compulsory house meeting was in process. All the single male residents , or clients as they came to be called, in other two houses, filed one after another into A house, a house three families were sharing. All the chairs were laid out, they were taken quietly. Everyone sniffed off their cigarette butts while having hot coffee in the cups in their hands. Not much conversation was going on. There were female residents and two babies. Men’s rowdiness seemed automatically balanced off towards polite indifference, or rather, intended inattention.
Mr. Doolittle was chairing the meeting. He coughed a dry cough and started “Have we any new comers today?” He cast his eyes to the left and to the right. Two hands raised. “Welcome, welcome to our shelter, you all know the routines, routines , this’s where we begin, let’s introduce ourselves to our fellow travelers, folks.” A light-hearted running down of names by their owners went clock-wise and people were really polite and affirmative in their voice.
“The same thing, as always, the old residents will tell you, our new comers, that we face the same old issues, always the same thing, the shower leaks, toilets flooded, no toilet paper , table manners, cooking privileges, the same things that go in any extended family. We are the big family, one family, of course, female residents and their babies, diapers and tampons. No baby dirty diapers in the trash can in the kitchen. How many times we have stressed that? For God’s sake, put the dirty diaper in a plastic bag and dump it immediately outside in the big trash can. Also, do I have to remind you again that you need to take shower everyday and use de-odorant for your BO’s? We got nine or ten big fully bodied guys in one house, there bound to be overdose of male odors. This is America, and we Americans are used to taking care of our hygiene seriously. Is that so, Ms China, you tell us since you are from a country with a long history and packed with millions and millions of people.” “Yes, ..” Ms. China blushed a little, and jumped into the dialogue with her rather good yet, with a distinctive Chinese flavor of English. She was non apologetic about her English. “Yes, I don’t mind share our wisdom of living in close quarters. The house will be good if everyone of us think of good manners. Good manners are very important when people live in groups. Some people will think good manners are bloody British imperialistic. No, they don’t own good manners. Good manners are natural result of social closeness, crowdedness, and packed existence. Good manners are lubricating the friction of our elbows and we need to own our good manners as part of our identities even when we are in shelters. This is where true manners are verified”. She sat down again and raised her head to Mr. Doolittle.
The door opened and Mr. Lincoln rolled himself in in a wheelchair. He was an old gizzard, as he called himself, a son of a San Francisco whore house madam, he proudly boasting to any one. He always enjoyed house meeting. It was a place he showed his years of life experience, a smart ass in the rough streets. He waves his hands to his fellow travelers as if he was on stage. He was most fond of the new site manager, an oriental woman, he secretly made himself fall for her. He called her Meili (meaning pretty in English) when she was not around. Meili was sitting besides Mr. Doolittle and returned his warm gaze with a vague smile.
Mr. Doolittle cleared his throat and looked at a piece of paper in his hands. It was a list of points to be address at the house meeting. House meetings were stages to him, where communal dialogues were conducted. In a country where individualism was the main stream of thinking, communal living for any extended period of time is always associated with confinements. Such confinements were usually associated with jails, prisons, reform programs or army barracks. Homeless shelters were in many sense truly communal living. The biggest shelter in this city housed about 160 singles, male or female in such closeness that it was tough for some people to adjust to. Homelessness in a way was a freer bargain with nature, as long as space was concerned. But the weather in North Bay was not very negotiable in winter. It rained a lot.
Mr. Doolittle had to address those psychological spots at every house meeting. It was here the voice of common sense was heard. “People complain about things, as always.” Mr. Doolittle took the stage. “We appreciate the fact that those complains brought to our attention, to the staff’s attention first. It is always best to settle our difference through the process of democracy. Our democracy is that everyone has a chance to speak. Well, today, the complain is, let me see, Refrigerator noise. Ah, refrigerator makes noise at night, well, what can we do about it. Do we need to do away with frig, or do we put up with the noise? Or can we do anything about the noise? Haven’t we addressed that issue many times before, through different angles and giving each ample consideration? Oh, yes, we have new residents and we have to do it all over again. Ok, let me see who can address the issue in a fresh light and come with smartest solution?”
“Yes, Mr. Willington, what do you say?”
“Check into a hotel room without frig.”
“Good suggestion, but I know you are kidding, aren’t you? Let’s have another suggestion, Mr. Washington, please.”
“Shut that damned thing down and eat spoiled food.”
“Mr. Washington’s suggestion is out of question so far as I can tell. Anyone for it? No? no body? No one is willing to kill the noise and eat the spoiled food. Common sense, common sense. Other suggestions? Mr. Lincoln?”
“Ear plug or learn to live with it. If you make yourself to listen to it, not to fight it, maybe you two can get along. I learned to go along with things instead of forcing it my way.”
“Very well, that’s a very good suggestion. Very good, full of common sense, and constructive and workable. Good. Then we can’t order the frig to be quiet, and we will have to learn to put up with it. Some evils in the life of mortals are necessary evils. One has to come to grip with this half-truth. The other half of the truth is that truthful evils are still evils. We still have to face them as factual truth since God does not seem to think it is not necessary for them to exist. So let’s live with necessary evils and the half truth and be truthful about them.” Mr. Doolittle was very satisfied to be able to deliver his message about the common sense. Such moments of reflection on God or truth always filled him with great delight. When truth was reflected by someone alone, it did not seem as profound as shared with millions and millions. It was a delightful experience to reveal truth to others when they were least expecting them. “Any more to say?” he looked at the faces turning up at him and smiled, “Next, smoke and got shut out. How has this happened?”
Mr. Lincoln raised his hands. He was a Vietnam War vet. He was in a wheelchair and could walk with the help of a walker. He spoke with a strained voice. “I got up to smoke and the door shut up, and I was locked out.”
“Did you lock it or someone locked it after you went out?”
“I did not lock it, I need to come in after a drag, of course I wouldn’t lock it. But someone did it and I was locked out 3 o’clock in the morning, and it was freezing cold and raining. I did not see anyone coming out. I did not quiet know what to do, to see the staff or just knock. To knock on the staff office door, or the door of B house, I waited and waited in the cold until some one came out for a drag.”
“Well, I personally believe this to be only an accident. We don’t encourage you to smoke at 3 o’clock in the morning. If you are quiet, and don’t wake up the house, you are ok with me. But if people start to complain about people coming in and out of the house at small hours, door opening and shutting, then we really have to talk to you to be more considerate of other people. This is common sense to be considerate of others. So, friends, make sure you understand when common sense fails, rules rule. If you people
make too much noise and start to disturb others, you are to face consequences. Ok, next, shower in the morning.”
“Yes,” one hand raised among the clients. “4 in the morning, someone is taking a shower. Is it really absolutely necessary to have shower in the morning that early. Can he take his shower at night? My bed is right next to the bathroom and there is only a very thin wall between me and the shower. I am not able to get enough sleep because I am awaken up at 4 in the morning.” It was Mr. Jefferson talking.
“Well, shower schedule is always an issue with us, one shower for 9 or 10 people in the same house. shower time has been a constant complain, a source of conflict. We will discuss this at our staff meeting next time and give you guys a guideline concerning the shower rules. Yes, Mr. Jefferson, what else do you want to say?”
“I think the bottom line is that when you live in B house or C house, with 10 people sharing one shower, and it is basically a time management. From 5 pm to next morning 9 am people will at any given time need to use the restroom. Especially in the morning, when nature calls, you got to go. I think we need rules about morning shower. I suggest a system that will work better than self determination of when to take a shower. I suggest that at least no shower after 6 in the morning and no shower early than 5am. I really don’t understand why you need to take shower in the morning when everybody will rush to the bathroom. One should take a shower in the evening or before 10 at night. Unless someone comes back from digging the ditches, he can take a shower before going to bed. I know that the women shelter Lily House doesn’t not allow anybody to take a shower in the morning. It really works. We should be able to do it too. If they have the habit of taking a shower in the morning after they get up, they can always change that habit as long as they get one shower a day. I don’t see why they can’t adjust. Come to think and to realize the true nature of living in the shelter, then you don’t have a hard time living with other 9 people in the same house with only one shower.”
“Very well said, Mr. Jefferson, you really got the fundamentals down. I am very impressed how articulate you are. Anyone can be more articulate than him? Yes, consideration for others and for the common peace and good. This is a whole new way of life living with other people in such closeness. But we are bound together for a common goal, that is to safely co-exist, save your money to have your own place and get out. Then we will not go after you about when you can take a shower or when you can smoke. That is the freedom of choice you purchase with your income. Money is the king, and cash speaks. I know it sounds republican, but this is the reality. I would not say it is the truth, but truth only reveal itself in ambiguity. And what we face is true human existence.”
“Who is running this shelter, the republicans or the democratic,” one voice shouted.
“The church charity. We are under the social arm of the church, the incorporated enterprise of the Redemption Worker’s Union. But we do not insist that you are religiously yoked to receive our service. We offer service to all the poor and needy. It is our republic’s heritage since we set our foot on this continent, we were, have been and are, at one time or another of our great history, homeless, until we won our independence for our British Mother Queen . “
“God bless your good heart, Mr. Doolittle.” Said, Mr. Carter and someone yearned. Ms Fanny raised her hand and said with great emotion “Adam took a show this morning after I clean the bath room, and left a mess. And because he was in the shower, my kid had to pee in the corner in the back yard. This is very frustrating.”
“Adam, did you or did not you take a show just before time to close the shelter?”
“Yes, you are damn right I did, but I got a job interview to go and I don’t want to smell bad.” Adam was still in his “Sunday” best.
“Good, good, it is really a common sense to take a shower before the job interview. As an one time thing, I won’t beat on you. But you should not do it everyday. And I personally have the confidence in your common sense not to abuse your shower privilege. Would you not take a shower in the morning just before we are closing? Adam? I know you answer is no, you would not, would you?”
“You damn right I won’t .”
“Yes, I know you. And the kids are kids, when they need to go, they have to go, so if we all bear in our minds try to make things easy for others, others will make things easy for you in return, that’s the golden rule, the rule of common sense.” Mr. Doolittle cleared his throat and looked at his watch.
“Ok, if we don’t have any more complains, let me finish our meeting by reminding all of you that there is no loitering around the neighborhood. It is very important that you remember this. Our neighbors have the right to veto our operation here if they file complains against us with the county. So make sure you all remember, Love your neighbor, and no loiter around the neighborhood. We are very grateful that they allow us to open this shelter here. So be grateful, guys and don’t screw up. Communal life means limited choice and restrained freedom, this is your reality and make sure you suck it in.”
“Then are we being discriminated” asked one client, Mr. Franklin.
“No, no way, we are not discriminating anybody. We only operate under the collective pressure to provide a peaceful shelter life. Our concern here is more on the issue of peace than freedom, which is not in anyway contradictory to the constitution. Full freedom is to the fully responsible citizens. When you don’t pay rent, don’t have a job, don’t pay tax, you are not fully exercising your citizen’s responsibilities. Then your freedom is compromised. This is the fact and come to term with it. The sooner you do it the better and the sooner, the happier you will feel. Well, do we have more to discuss today?”
“Yes, what about snoring, Mr. Clinton snores so loud, all of us have a hard time sleeping. We don’t know how to stop him without causing physical harm.”
“ Well, you all know that snoring is not a punishable crime. I am afraid that we can do really nothing about it. It is like the noise of refrigerator. You either put up with it, or what else, shut it off. Snoring is more difficult. We are really strangers coming together, Even spouse can do nothing about the snoring. I suggest that we make a scale of snoring intensity from 1 being the lightest to 5 the heaviest, and list it on our Intake form, so we would know who is of the heavy snoring habit. And try to group the snoring residents together. They don’t mind snoring if they snore themselves. At this moment, I can’t promise anything, let our common sense guides us and learn to adjust, ok?” Mr. Doolittle looked at Ms. China, and tilted his head. Ms. China shook her head.
“Well, folks, we had a very good meeting, common sense, common sense, if we have common sense, then we don’t need rules, do we? Any more issues? Mr. Einstein? Mr. Kennedy? Well, ladies, we all know that ladies full of common sense, any female issues to cover? No, Ms. Fanny? good, the meeting is over and you all have a good day.”
Everybody stood up , leaving the room, still trying to soak their brains in Mr. Doolittle’s wisdom.
Mr. Doolittle felt very good, he entered the following words in the log book “a good day, all are fine, no fights, no curses, no rats, President day, shelter stays open for the whole day. See you all on Thursday, Guys.”
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