The kitchen at the Dorothy Day House in Berkeley is undergoing remodeling, so breakfast this morning was cold cereal, milk, a doughnut, packaged fruit slices, and coffee. We served it in the courtyard, where about seventy-five people queued up. Or most of them did.
Sandy didn’t. She lay off to the side, screaming almost all the time, removing most of her clothes in the 38 degree weather. Ara brought her donations from the shelter to keep her warm. She threw them off, continuing to scream.
The first client showed up, turned down the box and asked that we give her a part of a bagel. We couldn’t do that without tearing apart a box, but she insisted. So did we. She went downstairs to get a bagel A scuffle happened. Someone called 9-1-1. Two police arrived. She filed a report of some kind. The policemen followed her inside. She pointed to a man sleeping under a blue tarp.
The mute in the blue jacket stood before me. We gave him two boxes and two containers of milk. Joe gave him two extra doughnuts. Jadyne poured two cups of coffee for him. He wouldn’t move. He just pointed to the boxes, the doughnuts and the coffee. We shook our hands to indicate that he’d had enough.
Another man came in and sat down, and began to shoot heroin. Carlos shooed him out, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. “You’re disrespecting these people who are trying to feed you!” he yelled. “Get out of here.” Sandy kept screaming.
The mute came back and stood before us, pointing to the boxes we’d prepared. We shooed him away again.
Sandy stopped screaming long enough to walk over to where we were serving breakfast and downloaded Screaming 2.0. She got close to the food carts. Carlos moved the carts away from her, protecting the food by insuring that the window between Sandy and the food was in front of her face. We had already brought her breakfast and coffee. Ara had brought her clothes. She was shooed away down the driveway. Screaming.
The Russian lady arrived. I had gone inside to bring back more milk. When I returned she was still there. “You have enough!” Jadyne said to her. She asked for boxes for her “friends.” “Tell your friends to come get their own boxes,” Jadyne said. “You have enough.” Instead of one cup of coffee she wanted us to pour fresh coffee into her thermos, which had a lid smaller than the coffee spout. “We can’t do that,” Jadyne said, “but you can have another cup of coffee.” She wouldn’t leave. She started yelling at me. I covered my ears with my hands and backed away. Once again Carlos came over. Finally, she, too was shooed down the driveway.
The Latino man on the bike who had already received several doughnuts returned, wanting more. I gave him three from the top bin, but he wanted one from the bottom bin, which was inaccessible. Angered, he left on his bike.
The mute came back.
Later that morning Jadyne, Joe, and I received an email: As follows,
“Hey you three,
This morning was nuts! Sorry I never made it up to the service area, I know the line was tough. Ara was having a hard time and needed support. Then a couple of participants got into a scuffle, and when I returned to my office one of them was on my phone calling 911.
Then Patrick came in and lost his mind because someone had walked across the fresh epoxy kitchen floor that hadn't set yet. Then a lovely young new volunteer came in for her orientation in the middle of it all and at the end asked if she need to take a self defense class .... do y'laugh or cry??
Anyway, really needed to thank you for all you do.
xoxo,
Tami”