the room of shame in Building D
The migrant respite center where I volunteer is quiet right now, thanks to fewer buses arriving from Texas and Arizona (this week, anyway), and some critical structural repairs happening in the main shelter building.
The people who run the shelter set up a partnership with a local organization called Goods For Good. GFG collects, sorts, and organizes hundreds of pounds of donated clothes every week, many miles away from the shelter, in a building that, unlike the shelter, has space for sorting and storage. The hope was that all donations would go through GFG, so that volunteers like me could keep track of what the shelter had, what it needed, and restock the "clothing pantries" with winter clothes and shoes for men, women, and children.
The shelter opened less than a year ago, but somehow word spread that the shelter itself was accepting donations in Building D, a kind of adjunct building with lots of small rooms (used for Covid isolation) off a long, narrow hallway. So for months, when people dropped off bags and boxes of used clothes, the staff just shoved them into one of the rooms and shut the door. I can't blame them. I'm sure they had much more important things to take care of, like feeding people and attending to their medical needs and helping them figure out where to go next.
The plan Monday was to unload the room of shame, which was so full of crap that the door would only open halfway. The piles went all the way up to the ceiling.
We had help from 25 American University students, as well as the AU president and her family. The big dudes were hauling, the smaller people were sorting and folding, and for almost three hours we didn't come up for air. I was shouting "Behind!" as I carried full bins of stuff past sorters, but from the confused looks I got, none of them had seen The Bear.
By the end of the day, we'd emptied 70% of that room, sorted maybe 2,000 pounds of clothes, and filled 50+ giant contractor bags with things we couldn't use. I was so tired I wanted to cry.
Before we started, someone from the shelter gave the AU students a little introduction about what we were doing and why. She said that as minor as this clothing sorting might seem, it's important, not just because she needs to be able to greet the buses with several bins of winter coats organized by size. Letting people browse the clothing pantries at the shelter to find decent, warm clothes in their size is something they really appreciate. And the AU president told us that no matter what happens at the government level re: laws and programs and funding, none of these kinds of efforts can succeed without a shit ton of volunteer labor.
It's hard to remember all of that when you are practically drowning in piles of people's cast-offs. Things that are ripped, stained, have broken zippers. All of that goes right into the Salvation Army donation pile, as well as all the Holy Cross Hospital event t-shirts. Like, I'm sorry you have 200 extra short-sleeved shirts from your 5K charity run, but we are not your dumpster. You're just creating more work for people here, and if I can't figure out who to call to make this stop, I will drive the next big box of them back to the hospital myself and ask to speak to the manager, Karen style.
I probably have another 8-10 hours of sorting work at the shelter until that room of shame is finally empty. If anyone in the DC area wants to join me, let me know. I'll drive.
Links
Rage applying is a thing, apparently. Boss pissing you off? Rage apply to a bunch of new jobs. (Mashable)
A Black Sabbath/Wham! mashup that works surprisingly well. (The Awesomer)
Tempted to buy this thing to address the grout in my shower. (Strategist)
Gel manicures are probably really bad for you. (Boing Boing)
Support a good cause. Adopt a roach and name it after your ex. (Wildlife Conservancy)
I finally got to see awesome DC punk band Chill Parents. Someone asked me how I knew the drummer, who used to walk my dog in San Francisco. I said, "my dog was in love with him." (YouTube)
They have husband-calling contests at the Iowa State fair and yet none of those women are screaming obscenities? (DesMoines Register)
"Priapus was born with a grotesquely enormous penis he couldn’t use. He was permanently erect but helplessly impotent." Put this in a church! (Hyperallergic)