strike that

inside out

Do you run into things sometimes that, as soon as you become aware of them, you realize you should have become aware of a long time ago? Like when I was a barista at thirty I suddenly realized, Oh, that’s why tipping is so important, even though it’s just a coffee. Or when my first friend got divorced, and I realized that can happen and it’s no one’s fault. Or when I figured out why some people don’t trust the police. It can take a whole lifetime, you know - digging yourself out of a sheltered childhood.

So this is what I learned yesterday: there are a lot of homeless people.

Portland is having a cold snap. Our Januaries are usually mild and wet but this year it’s been clear and sunny and freezing. Last week the Neighborhood Emergency Team that I’m part of got an email about emergency warming shelters. The shelters are opened by the Red Cross when the conditions outside become life-threatening. I signed up for a couple shifts.

My first one was yesterday morning at five, so for the first time since barista days my alarm went off at four something. I drove up empty streets to the auditorium of a big church. A few folks were standing outside smoking – volunteers who had been up all night.

Inside, a hundred and fifty people slept on mats covering a full-sized basketball court. It was warm and stuffy and mostly quiet. I don’t know what I expected, but I was surprised. There were just so many people. And this is one shelter of more than a dozen around the city.

For an hour the guests slept and the other volunteers and I chatted quietly. Most of them were there because the shelters have gotten very strong media coverage this week. A common reason was, I saw the story on the cover of the Oregonian and I realized how cold it’s been, even in my house, so I wanted to help. But it’s so hard if you don’t read something, to think of that all on your own.

At six we turned on the gym lights. Most of the folks waking up looked just like I look in the morning: cranky and bleary-eyed and reluctant to get moving. Many were there alone, but some had come with partners or friends. Several had brought their dogs. This particular shelter is popular because it allows all of these things, whereas other shelters are single-sex or don’t allow pets, or don’t allow you to go outside to smoke and come back in.

We had set out soup and coffee and sandwiches. Slowly, over the next hour, everyone got up. Some folks had very little stuff; when the lights went on they pulled on jackets and left. Others were in pajamas and had rolling suitcases or backpacks or bursting plastic bags. Cold is a bitch when you’re homeless because not only is it cold, but there’s nowhere to keep things like blankets and extra layers during the daytime.

Folks at this shelter on this night ranged in age from about nineteen to seventy. They were white and Hispanic and Native American and Asian and black. Half and half men and women.

Some of them talked quietly to themselves or gave angry looks, some of them laughed and joked and teased each other, some of them packed their things quietly. In other words, a room full of people. We bagged up the blankets and wiped the mats down with bleach water. I looked around and wondered how each person got here. There are so many ways to end up in this situation, and so few ways to get out of it.

Slowly everyone left. It sure is nice to see a smiling face in the morning one guy said to me on the way out. It’s just about the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten. By seven fifteen it was only volunteers, sweeping and mopping and cleaning out the coffee maker. I don’t know where everyone else went. I don’t know where they’ll go next week when it’s a little less cold and these emergency shelters are closed.

It went like that again this morning. And this afternoon I’m going to look at houses. I don’t know why I get to live in a house when these people get to live nowhere at all. Dumb fucking luck, I think, and that’s a highly suspicious way to run things.

posted by tortaluga @ 9:23 AM