It's getting towards the end of the month and that means tempers are rapidly shortening. Numbers for the meals always increase as the month progresses, and September is no different. We were close to 400 near the beginning of the week, but people are starting to get their checks early, so it was down around 350 yesterday. Higher numbers are not usually a problem, since there always happens to be just enough food, and if we run out of what was being served, there is always a substitute. However, high numbers mean longer meals, which is not always such a welcome thing for those of us who are working.
Along with shorter tempers come fights. There was a fight in the middle of the dining room on Monday, when 2 men came to blows over... wait for it... a SNEEZE. A man was sneezing in another guest's meal and when he neglected to stop after being warned, he was pummeled by the other guest. One of the lay women jumped between them and held back the sneezed upon while the sneezer was pulled into the office. Unfortunately, there were a number of children dining at the same time, and they all began to cry. I don't feel the need to explain the ridiculousness of this situation to you. I will therefore leave you to draw your own conclusions, and simply mention that the sneezed upon is a frequent guest and has been banned from the premises for a week; however, the sneezer has never been seen before or since, which is just as well for him.
Today is one of my two days off a week, and I spent it with Katelyn at Franklin Mills Mall, looking at things we can't afford. Shopping has become rather pointless for me, since it doesn't really matter how I look as long as I am fully clothed (shirts and shoes are required for entrance into the dining room); so I think I should probably stop teasing myself and avoid malls altogether. Katelyn and I also picked out a few things for Paul for his upcoming adventures, which was fun. He has begun his preparations for departure, and we are getting ready to let him go. October 6th is the big day, but I will be saying my goodbye early, since I will be going home on the 5th to spend some time at home, and some time with Casey. I will be returning to Philadelphia on the 9th. It will be strange to be away from here for that long-I wonder what Watertown will feel like to me now. I think the quiet will either drive me insane or be a welcome reprieve from the city noise to which I've grown accustomed. Either way, it will be wonderful to see people that I've been missing so much while I've been here.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
It's all about attitude
I have had the revelation in the past couple of days that attitude is everything. I've been hearing that my entire life, from my parents and teachers, but it is an entirely different thing to experience it to be true. For 2 meals in a row, I was assigned to be bathroom monitor. This is a job done only when there is enough people to fill all other roles during the meal. When the yard is opened to our guests during each meal, 2 bathrooms are available to them while they wait, or after they have finished eating. The monitor's job is to see that everyone waits in line, toilet paper is replaced, and to maintain order in the yard. I have found that it is a job that, for the most part, does itself. There is the rare occasion when people take too long in the bathroom while others wait, but usually these things are quickly resolved without too much swearing. Well my second tour of duty saw a lot of action, including a clogged toilet (a kind man took the plunger from my hands because he said it shouldn't be my job, for which I am grateful), a clogged sink (the result of a vomited meal) and a urine puddle on the floor of one of the bathrooms. Now, I could look at that and say, what an awful day. Or, I could look at it and say, well that part of it sucked, but I also had the chance to talk to people in the yard, learn a few names, receive the kindness of the man who took the plunger, and watch the antics of some of our more eccentric guests. The difficulty that comes into changing your attitude is that it needs to be a conscious choice sometimes and, often, it can take less effort to look at the grim side of things rather than the good side because the grim aspects are more obvious.
It's hard to describe the day to day activities and characters of the Inn and my house because to give the background would take up quite a bit of time, so if I am lacking in enough detail, I apologize. This is also the reason why it is sometimes difficult to catch up on the phone, because to tell you what exactly I have been up to requires a lot of explanation, and even then I'm not sure that I can make people understand. But please know that I am incredibly happy to be here and am having the time of my life. It doesn't feel like work because there is so much joy in it for me-I almost feel like work shouldn't be this much fun. There are certainly times when I have to do things I don't enjoy, but I am surrounded and supported by wonderful people who really care about me, and that makes anything bearable at the very least. When people say that they are proud of what I am doing or impressed by it, I am always slightly puzzled. What I am doing with my life is no harder for me than going to school is for a student or practicing medicine is for a doctor or building things is for a construction worker. I am doing what I feel called to do, just like (I hope) you are. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all the prayers and well-wishing, but don't think this is any more special than anyone else's job. Certainly we do it with a recognition of the presence of God in our work, but shouldn't everyone do their job like that?
It's hard to describe the day to day activities and characters of the Inn and my house because to give the background would take up quite a bit of time, so if I am lacking in enough detail, I apologize. This is also the reason why it is sometimes difficult to catch up on the phone, because to tell you what exactly I have been up to requires a lot of explanation, and even then I'm not sure that I can make people understand. But please know that I am incredibly happy to be here and am having the time of my life. It doesn't feel like work because there is so much joy in it for me-I almost feel like work shouldn't be this much fun. There are certainly times when I have to do things I don't enjoy, but I am surrounded and supported by wonderful people who really care about me, and that makes anything bearable at the very least. When people say that they are proud of what I am doing or impressed by it, I am always slightly puzzled. What I am doing with my life is no harder for me than going to school is for a student or practicing medicine is for a doctor or building things is for a construction worker. I am doing what I feel called to do, just like (I hope) you are. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all the prayers and well-wishing, but don't think this is any more special than anyone else's job. Certainly we do it with a recognition of the presence of God in our work, but shouldn't everyone do their job like that?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
One of the big problems I have noticed for new FVMs is asserting authority. Many of the guests and even the daily volunteers take a while to get used to new people and often assume we are just visitors. I was helping to coordinate during the morning shift today (the coordinator is basically the manager of the entire operation, and it is a different person every meal so that no one person is really in charge of the Inn. The division of power here is beautiful-all responsibilities are rotated and shared among everyone who works here), and when I was asked to help by the regular morning volunteers who hand out the takeout breakfast, I couldn't gather the courage to say "I can if you need me, although that's not really my job," instead I just silently joined in the flurry of stuffing paper bags with pastries. Often, when guests come around looking for the coordinator after dinner and see one of us, they will ask to see someone from the team instead. I am not always good at taking charge of situations and I get discouraged when someone questions my authority, but I suppose that will just be one more thing for me to work on and grow out of while I am here. I always consider it a minor victory when I am able to respond to a request without having to consult someone else, and these victories are luckily getting more and more frequent!
Yesterday a policeman was in our neighborhood to speak to us about the increasing number of people who have been sleeping on the street, and what we think should be done about it. On the one hand, this is a reasonably safe place to sleep outside, although if people keep bedding down out here, safety will become a greater issue. There really aren't a lot of other places to go, and shelters fill up quickly. So, the policeman asked if we were more likely to be sympathetic to them because of the work we are doing, but Fr. Michael explained to him that the problem is not the sleeping, it is the drugs that they sell and do, and the lack of public restrooms (the loading dock on the warehouse* next door is a favored area for relieving oneself). But where else are they supposed to go? If the policemen shoo them away from our sidewalk, won't they just end up on another person's sidewalk doing the same things? Every day is a new question lacking a good answer.
*=did I mention we live next door to a tropical fish and exotic pet warehouse? Just another example of the ridiculousness of our life here in Philly.
Yesterday a policeman was in our neighborhood to speak to us about the increasing number of people who have been sleeping on the street, and what we think should be done about it. On the one hand, this is a reasonably safe place to sleep outside, although if people keep bedding down out here, safety will become a greater issue. There really aren't a lot of other places to go, and shelters fill up quickly. So, the policeman asked if we were more likely to be sympathetic to them because of the work we are doing, but Fr. Michael explained to him that the problem is not the sleeping, it is the drugs that they sell and do, and the lack of public restrooms (the loading dock on the warehouse* next door is a favored area for relieving oneself). But where else are they supposed to go? If the policemen shoo them away from our sidewalk, won't they just end up on another person's sidewalk doing the same things? Every day is a new question lacking a good answer.
*=did I mention we live next door to a tropical fish and exotic pet warehouse? Just another example of the ridiculousness of our life here in Philly.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
If you can't stand the heat...
Today I am feeling refreshed and happy in a way that I haven't for a few days. Yesterday I spent my prayer day in Center City, walking and wandering, pretending to be a typical Philadelphian. I doubt I fooled anyone. Directions from a friend led me to Rittenhouse Square Park, which is a beautiful little oasis, surrounded by upscale shopping and even upper-scale neighborhoods. As much as I am learning to love Kensington, it was nice to get away from familiar faces, and people who are needy in every sense of the word.
I was home in time for dinner (Katelyn and I snagged a crockpot right off the van on its way to the Benny's!) and a brief meeting with Fr. Michael (our site supervisor and all-around father figure). He wanted to check in with each of us girls (now named "the sorority") to make sure we were comfortable with Paul's upcoming departure. He also paid me one of the highest compliments possible, saying that when he sees me at work, it is like I have been there for years and that I "fit in." That made me so incredibly happy to hear. I tried to tell him how much I love this place and how truly happy I am to be here; I hope I got my point across.
Today I am in the kitchen with Sr. Jude, and I am loving every minute of it. She is a lovely older woman who gets teased by the other nuns (not spring chickens themselves) for being senile, but laughs right along with them. She is sweet and silly, and everything I hope to be once I am her age. We had a break around noon and she brought me yogurt and Hawaiian Punch (which to this day reminds me of miniature cereal boxes and breakfasts in hotel rooms) and told me all about the life she has led (entering the sisterhood right out of high school, attending college to study art, then teaching it for 30 years and finally becoming an LPN with Hospice, all before she began working at the Inn). She is an incredible woman. We are making her specialty, "Turkey a la Queen." It is remarkable how peaceful she is, even when things start getting hectic in the kitchen.
One of our guests, Vito, was hit by a car last night on Kensington Avenue. He is in the hospital, so prayers for a speedy recovery would be much appreciated. There are constant reminders such as this of how dangerous life on the street really is.
I was home in time for dinner (Katelyn and I snagged a crockpot right off the van on its way to the Benny's!) and a brief meeting with Fr. Michael (our site supervisor and all-around father figure). He wanted to check in with each of us girls (now named "the sorority") to make sure we were comfortable with Paul's upcoming departure. He also paid me one of the highest compliments possible, saying that when he sees me at work, it is like I have been there for years and that I "fit in." That made me so incredibly happy to hear. I tried to tell him how much I love this place and how truly happy I am to be here; I hope I got my point across.
Today I am in the kitchen with Sr. Jude, and I am loving every minute of it. She is a lovely older woman who gets teased by the other nuns (not spring chickens themselves) for being senile, but laughs right along with them. She is sweet and silly, and everything I hope to be once I am her age. We had a break around noon and she brought me yogurt and Hawaiian Punch (which to this day reminds me of miniature cereal boxes and breakfasts in hotel rooms) and told me all about the life she has led (entering the sisterhood right out of high school, attending college to study art, then teaching it for 30 years and finally becoming an LPN with Hospice, all before she began working at the Inn). She is an incredible woman. We are making her specialty, "Turkey a la Queen." It is remarkable how peaceful she is, even when things start getting hectic in the kitchen.
One of our guests, Vito, was hit by a car last night on Kensington Avenue. He is in the hospital, so prayers for a speedy recovery would be much appreciated. There are constant reminders such as this of how dangerous life on the street really is.
Monday, September 17, 2007
"Who are you?"
I am new to this whole blogging scene, so you will have to be patient with me as I find my way around. I just thought this might be the best way to communicate to as many people as possible what I am living here without having to send crazy amounts of mass e-mails; and you don't even have to read this if you'd rather not.
I will have been in Philadelphia, living in Kensington (areas of Philadelphia are named by neighborhoods, which are usually based on a main street in the region, although I'm not sure how to explain places like Fishtown or Richmondville) for a month tomorrow. I have been working at the St. Francis Inn for almost that long, minus the time spent on retreat. Already, my worldview has shifted. We are surrounded by a type of poverty that I barely knew existed before coming here. People regularly sleep in front of or across the street from our house, as well as up the block near the Inn. We serve meals to people of varying levels of need: from the guy who goes to AA and NA meetings across the street and are trying to get their lives together, to the guy who carries all his earthly possessions in a single grocery bag so it's easier to move, to the woman with 5 kids all under the age of 10 who can't go home to get beaten anymore, to the mother and daughter who have a home but would rather hang out in and around the Inn all day to shoot the breeze and be rowdy with their friends on the avenue, to the guy who would really like to get his life together after leaving his cocaine addict girlfriend but can't quite get past his "mental problems," to the many who sacrifice groceries in order to feed their various addictions. There are hundreds of others, all with stories that are usually sad. It can be hard to have hope for these people-and most of our hope involves wanting to never see these people again because they would be able to survive without us. However, you can see the cycles our guests (what we call those who come to the Inn to eat) are in from week to week, and even from generation to generation. That's when it gets hard to hope.
I worked at the thrift store today (the Inn runs St. Benedict's Thrift Store on Girard Ave. and it is staffed by a rotation of people from the Inn, as well as a few ridiculous characters that live in the neighborhood and show up to help out on a daily basis-more about them later). Last Monday was the first time I had gone without the supervision of one of the Inn's team members, which was frightening yet exhilarating, and the worst thing I did was blow a fuse, rendering the rear of the already dimly-lit building pitch black. The best thing I did was set a record for daily totals: $170.
The thrift store is really not about profit, it is about making enough to pay the rent on the building. It is kept in business by crazy old women who come in multiple times a day buying the most random items possible. The Inn distributes clothing vouchers to guests 3 days a week that entitle them to a full set of clothing from "Benny's," so this is likely the reason the store is bothered with at all. There are no price tags; most of the regulars know shirts and pants to be $1 apiece, newer or heavier clothing items run from $2-3, and the rest of the inventory is subject to the pricing choices of the person who happens to be working that day. Unfortunately, the customers today disapproved of my pricing choices and decided that being rude and intimidating to me would be the best way to get a lower price. Were they ever wrong. One woman felt the need to lean across the desk where we price and bag purchases to make disparaging comments and, in her honor, the title of this entry is a quote from her. Bright points in the Benny's stint included a visit from the man who owns the deli next door, another man dropping off bags full of decades-old magazines (Popular Science and, I believe, Model Train Enthusiast) and one of the ridiculous characters' reactions to them, as well as a trip to a market with fresh fruit on the way home.
My life here has been incredible so far, although it has been rather ridiculous at times. There is so much more to tell, but not enough hours in the day to live it, and then write about all of it. I hope this has been a worthwhile tidbit, and know that there is much more to come.
I will have been in Philadelphia, living in Kensington (areas of Philadelphia are named by neighborhoods, which are usually based on a main street in the region, although I'm not sure how to explain places like Fishtown or Richmondville) for a month tomorrow. I have been working at the St. Francis Inn for almost that long, minus the time spent on retreat. Already, my worldview has shifted. We are surrounded by a type of poverty that I barely knew existed before coming here. People regularly sleep in front of or across the street from our house, as well as up the block near the Inn. We serve meals to people of varying levels of need: from the guy who goes to AA and NA meetings across the street and are trying to get their lives together, to the guy who carries all his earthly possessions in a single grocery bag so it's easier to move, to the woman with 5 kids all under the age of 10 who can't go home to get beaten anymore, to the mother and daughter who have a home but would rather hang out in and around the Inn all day to shoot the breeze and be rowdy with their friends on the avenue, to the guy who would really like to get his life together after leaving his cocaine addict girlfriend but can't quite get past his "mental problems," to the many who sacrifice groceries in order to feed their various addictions. There are hundreds of others, all with stories that are usually sad. It can be hard to have hope for these people-and most of our hope involves wanting to never see these people again because they would be able to survive without us. However, you can see the cycles our guests (what we call those who come to the Inn to eat) are in from week to week, and even from generation to generation. That's when it gets hard to hope.
I worked at the thrift store today (the Inn runs St. Benedict's Thrift Store on Girard Ave. and it is staffed by a rotation of people from the Inn, as well as a few ridiculous characters that live in the neighborhood and show up to help out on a daily basis-more about them later). Last Monday was the first time I had gone without the supervision of one of the Inn's team members, which was frightening yet exhilarating, and the worst thing I did was blow a fuse, rendering the rear of the already dimly-lit building pitch black. The best thing I did was set a record for daily totals: $170.
The thrift store is really not about profit, it is about making enough to pay the rent on the building. It is kept in business by crazy old women who come in multiple times a day buying the most random items possible. The Inn distributes clothing vouchers to guests 3 days a week that entitle them to a full set of clothing from "Benny's," so this is likely the reason the store is bothered with at all. There are no price tags; most of the regulars know shirts and pants to be $1 apiece, newer or heavier clothing items run from $2-3, and the rest of the inventory is subject to the pricing choices of the person who happens to be working that day. Unfortunately, the customers today disapproved of my pricing choices and decided that being rude and intimidating to me would be the best way to get a lower price. Were they ever wrong. One woman felt the need to lean across the desk where we price and bag purchases to make disparaging comments and, in her honor, the title of this entry is a quote from her. Bright points in the Benny's stint included a visit from the man who owns the deli next door, another man dropping off bags full of decades-old magazines (Popular Science and, I believe, Model Train Enthusiast) and one of the ridiculous characters' reactions to them, as well as a trip to a market with fresh fruit on the way home.
My life here has been incredible so far, although it has been rather ridiculous at times. There is so much more to tell, but not enough hours in the day to live it, and then write about all of it. I hope this has been a worthwhile tidbit, and know that there is much more to come.
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