#20 Shreveport Part Deux

Up-and -at-em! Woke up in a bed, what a pleasure. My last for a while. Took a shower and washed my hair, "Dora" took hers, we packed up for the day and together, down we went, to breakfast with the boys. Breakkie was short and sweet. Boss and I were off to close a shelter with problems. What did I care, I was leaving the ARC day after tomorrow. It was the end of my tour. My attitude was: Bring it on!

A local university had opened its doors to evacuees. This I was told, was a black university. What a funny designation. Marking a school of higher learning by the dominant color of those who attend...sigh. We got to the school, and soon found the fellow in charge. As I took out my camera and started shooting photos of what might be considered damage, the conversation with in-charge guy took an interesting turn. In-charge guy wanted the whole place, "disinfected floor to ceiling". His words. In fact he was insisting upon it. Apparently he seemed to believe that poverty was contagious, as none of the evacuees had been found to have leprosy.

Before I go further into how clean he wanted the place, the disinfecting, the scrubbing, the thorough revulsion of the evacuees that peppered this guy's language, let me describe him. Standing about 6'3", he was tall and thi, slightly stooped. Balding, in his 50's, casually dressed, soft spoken, black. Thaaats right. Black. This was a "black university" , he was the "black" in charge. This man went through each room with us, me snapping photos, telling Boss and I how the dirty contaminated evecuees had wrecked their place of temporary residence, and how he wanted it rectified. To our eyes, the university was in very good shape. Barely dirty in fact. But no. Señor fix-it felt that every surface had to be scoured, in order to rid the rooms of the stink of poverty. The Black haves against the black have-nots. Holy mother of god.

At one point he took us into the laundry room, and insisted that the evacuees had destroyed the new washer and dryer that now had to be replaced. Believe me, we were willing to replace them. Boss took a look, and wrote down "replace" on the form. By this time, I was pissed, so I turned on the washer. Lo and behold...Hallelujah! It worked. I started the dryer. It worked too. I didn't say a thing, but I left both machines on as continued the destructo tour of poverty contamination. Every once in a while, I would force both Boss and Fix-it to return to the laundry room to check on the cycles, with the excuse that I didn't want to leave the school with appliances that were missing some cycle or another. In fact, I was rubbing in the point. Couldn't help it. Needless to say, both washer and dryer were in tip top shape. We weren't replacing them.

In the end, it was Boss-man who figured out that fix-it believed that because of some rumor he had heard, white schools who had volunteered their facilities were getting thousands of dollars in compensation, while the ARC was stiffing the darker section of town. Had to stop myself from banging my head on a wall, or at least trying to bang his head on one. ARC national is truly color blind. That is not to say that the local volunteers had a collective brain in their heads because they didn't, but it wasn't color directed, they were just stupid. Someone had sent in something asking for payment of some ridiculously high cleaning bill. That did not mean that they would get their wish. Just meant that they sent it in and were giving it a go. National would review it and laugh heartily and tell them to go f* themselves in short order when they saw the amount was ludicrous. Tons of moolah were being misdirected, but not on my watch.

We finished the walk through, I had the pix. The cleaning staff was up in arms as Fix-it felt that his black staff was too lazy to get the job done correctly, and he wanted some white contractor to do the job. Shall I tell you how well that went over with everyone? We just nodded, and figured to take it all up with management when we returned to HQ. We left as the cleaning staff and the coach were spitting nails.

From there we went to lunch. VIncent's High Point Cafe. What a place. All seafood all the time. Chock full of locals eating gumbo and seafood. Boss continued his tour de chicken fried steak, and I had the gumbo with a side of fried green tomatoes and crab fingers. I wanted them to throw in one fried green pickle, and I was disappointed when I didn't get it. No oysters here either. They say that the oyster beds won't come back for at least two years. That is a huge let down.

Took us a while to notice, but as far as the local restaurants and bars are concerned, colors don't mix here. Chances are if they knew I was half Jewish, someone might find my body sometime next spring or not at all. That impression was pretty strong. The waitresses all did decide that they just loved my perfume though. Especially when I told them that I was from Malibu. The girls made me write down the name so that they could all go on-line and get the same. Somewhere in some little racist dive in Shreveport, there are a bunch of over-dyed, over-plucked young delectibles wearing Moschino, not knowing how to pronounce it, but happy that they are wearing the same perfume that some lady from Malibu had on.

Next we toured the warehouse. Got there and looked around. everything looked normal except that staff wasn't following any kind of sensible non contamination procedure. Body fluid soaked cots were inside, strewn about, instead of bagged tagged and out of the building. Staff was sorting buckets and buckets of donated clothes without gloves or masks. When we brought it up, we were told that they were handling things correctly. They weren't. We had been told of the water shortage, but we could see pallets upon pallets of canned water sitting outside. When we asked why, we were told that the evacuees wouldn't drink the stuff. Thinking that It couldn't be that bad, I tried one, with the resulting suggestion that the cans of water be used to wash the dirty cots. It was that disgusting. Bleah!!!

After scraping my tongue with my shoe, we went off to check on the shelters before we headed back home. On the way, boss called HQ about the decontamination procedures. I listened as they gave him the run around. FInally, as I could see his frustration mounting to the boiling point, I asked him to pass me the phone. After ducking same phone furiously thrust in my direction, I took it in hand, and In my softest little girl voice, I asked the nice doctor on the other end of the line if the ARC had to comply with OSHA standards? When he replied with some bluster, "of course", I pointed out that OSHA standards required dust masks for sorting new clothes and materials, goodness knows what they would think of sorting used unwashed icky ones without protection of any kind. I meweled that we could stand out in a really bad way, and might get the whole of the ARC in serious trouble for non compliance with government standards. We didn't want the Feds to get involved, did we? I suggested that the big strong knowledgeable doctor-poo could be the hero by making a stand and fixing it all. To OSHA standards of course. By the time I said goodbye, Boss had pulled off the road and was laughing so hard and holding his sides, he was almost crying. He told me very decisively, that he would remember not to cross me anytime in the near future.

At Hirsh Center, it was a madhouse. What a horrible place to be stuck. Cots on cots in a dark dank arena. It was a huge dungeon. Too many people, few supplies. Under-trained staff. Not enough medicine or equipment, and the system wasn't working for anyone. They had a great nurse in charge though, fighting hard for them, and the new day supervisor was caring and smart, so these evacuees were at least getting another chance at things going right. It was an uphill fight. this place was a mess.

On the way in, we met up with the local troublemaker "Georgette", only it turns out that "Georgette" was a troublemaker in my mold. She was trying to get things done in the face of the CLS, complete with identical run-ins with the same dingbats that went after me. We decided that on our return, "Georgette" would transfer to our department ASAP. As we were talking to her, I looked on the ground beside us and noticed a dime bag of marijhuana. Well how-dee-doo! This tiny baggie was stuffed to the gills with weed! I picked it up and laughed, waving it at Boss and "Georgette".

To my surprise, Boss literally snatched it out of my hand. Did he think I was planning to use it? God knows under the trying circumstances, if I did do that, and I don't, I might have, but as I didn't, it hadn't entered my mind. Ai yi yi! Before I could ask what he was doing, Boss opened the bag and strewed the contents around the grounds, walking around and shaking the bag violently, finally ripping the seams to make sure that every last bit was gone. I was totally stunned. I loved Boss, but anyone this anal could have certainly used some weed. In the end, we took the empty bag over to the police who were stationed in front of the shelter and in an AHA! moment, Boss handed it over with a flourish, as though the cops didn't have any idea that this was going on. Poor Boss. He was such a nice guy, but so behind the times. I didn't have the heart to tell him.

While we were there, "Barney" showed up with the day's bananas. When called on the carpet, again, he gave Boss-man a talk to the hand motion, and stalked off. That would have been my cue to send ol' "Barn" back to Iowa, or wherever he came from, but I think Boss doesn't like actual confrontations, so Monkey-boy stayed, much to my disgust.

As we drove out of Shreveport, I noticed the beautiful architecture and Victorian details of the older section of town. It was a really pretty place if you could forget the racism stupidity and isolationism that seemed so pervasive. On the way back, Boss talked a bit about his life, and asked if I would re-up for another few days. What could I say. He and Daddy had saved my butt. I called HQ on the way back, and got the paperwork in motion. Sigh...

We got back to HQ late. I picked up the car that was left for me and hauled my tired self back to the shelter. I had had one night in a bed, and a bath. I had agreed to sign up for another four days at least. What a roundheels. I had lost my mind....again. So what else is new?