#22 Day Who's who.

This brings us to my new department and inevitably to ""Tandaleo". How the hell does any organization allow someone like "Tandaleo" to get past their radar?? Description: Short, heavy, bottle blond. Diabetic, pop-eyed chronic drinker, possibly bi-polar. Nasty nasty temper, manipulative, unreasonable, erratic, dramatic, overbearing, mean . On the up side: Loud, sarcastic, funny, quick witted and really at times kinda fun. She's a lotta laughs. Look in the dictionary under: "train wreck". For some bizarre reasons she likes me. For some bizarre reason, I kinda like her too. Go figure.

"The Material Girls". At least that's what we call them "Minna", "Mo" and "Jaqui". We loove them. "Minna" is a tall dark haired mama, thin and wiry, married with children, possessed of a smile that goes ear to ear. She is also a very efficient employee. "Mo" is the actual Lesbian at the fort. Of course for the first few days of contact, yours truly had like no idea whatsoever. In fact, so far, I had thought that just about every woman in sight was over on that side of the fence, but her. Shows to go ya, that you can't trust me at all in this department. Anyhoo, "Mo", is tall, no nonsense and blond. Looks like a slightly butch surfer girl. She also has an ear to ear smile, and is as raunchy as a Hustler magazine, only in the pink version. We all love her to death too. "Mo" doing her job is like sending Sherman in to take Baton Rouge.

Ahhhh "Jaqui". Hmmmmm......how do I put this? We all think that there is the distinct possibility that "Jaqui" may be a manski. Ok...she looks like a girl...sort of....ok..I mean she looks like a girl. She is attractive, thin, taller than average. Dark and of indeterminate nationality, race, and or background. All of the correct parts in the correct places, only something is amiss. Or a mister. For one thing, she wears a big poufy wig. I can't help looking at the thing each time I talk to her. Secondly, she just doesn't relate in any tangible way to any of the other girls,including "Mo", who came up with this theory in the first place if I remember correctly. Thirdly, well...I don't quite know what thirdly would be, except that she might be a guy. "Jaqui" is oh so quiet and proper, unless of course she is busy popping out something that you just can't believe came out of her mouth. Some weird non-sequiter that brings the room to a full tilt halt when she says it. I don't know how to make this clearer, but then if it was clear in the first place, I wouldn't have to would I? "Jaqui" does her job, although she does have a tendency to winge over it and everyone else's job from time to time. Hey, maybe she is a girl.

So part of today was spent on writing about yesterday's walkthrough at Shreveport, and my resulting report. That which has never been written before at the ever amazing ARC. Just think about it, I feel like Dr Livingston...I presume. Apparently, no one in anyone's memory contained in this derelict old building can remember anyone doing a photo walkthrough of a site. Now that is just sick.

In other words, all of this time, pre-me, the ARC has been throwing away perfectly good donation money on shelter sites due to sheer ineptitude salted with a dash of laziness. I mean no one has bothered to take pre-use photos, or even post use photos until moi? Yew have got to be kidding? Why don't we just burn the cash and charge admission? It would make more sense. When I brought up the question, one of the long termers told me that we , "didn't have the time". Damn. Didn't have an hour to walk through and document what was right and wrong either before or after we had used the joint for our nefarious housing purposes. Ergo, Mr Owns-The_Place can say:"Sob sob....woe is me....this was the Taj Mahal until the American Red Cross got aholt of it. Alas, alak.....sob sob...guess the ARC will just hafta pay bundles of dough to bring this dung heap..I mean magnificent edifice back to its formerly sartorial splendor....And then we apparently do. Yark!!!!

Well LOGIC WOMAN to the rescue. Or at least Handy dandy camera and computer to the rescue I guess. So I wrote up the walkthrough and attached the pictures, et voila! Instant Protocol. Or so says Big Daddy. I spend the rest of the afternoon doing show and tell with my computer, teaching the rest of the somewhat reluctant Logistics staff the new and future permanent way to do a walkthrough. Photos and narrative. Ain't I special? The girls took it better than the boys, that's for sure. Gals sucked it up, Guy thought I sucked. The usual division of opinion. Like it or not this is now ARC protocol for walk throughs. They have to be kidding? Apparently not.


In the midst of all of this protocol crap, Boss walks up to me and tells me under his breath that "they", want to hire me on permanently. Paid. I of course took Boss man to be speaking of invisible aliens, as the only alternative available would be the All American Red Cross, and we knew that was not a possibility. Not in this dimension at least. Boss swore that he had heard rumor, I was ergo convinced that I was being punked in the worst way. Next up to bat was Big Daddy, who sidles up to myself, and whispers to me that the ARC ought to be paying me. Would I consider hiring on to the dark forces for lucre? I was guessing by now that this was Doggy Daddy's bright idea, and so it was. Had me going for about a tenth of a sec there. Daddy's plan was to put the bug in the ear of the forces that be to hire me to overhaul their sorry rear ends and make everything right. Yep...that was going to happen soon. I told him that I would hire on to consult for money, but they would never listen to anything I have to say. The ARC would hire me when hell freezes over. That's a fact.

Big Daddy. Big Daddy as I said before, had been an honest by god colonel in the Army. As he explained it, he had been, "a spook" in other words, a spy, which resulted in further explaining and much doubling over in hilarity when he used this description to our local self proclaimed felon/thug/former gang member that annoyed....I mean worked in our department. "Joey" told the tale of being an "OG" Original Gangster. Shot, knifed, mugged and mugger. Jailed and jacked. Jammed up an jammer upper The Joe portrayed himself on the fringe with a criminal record as long as your arm, oh but he was now reformed. In reality, "Joey" was most likely a grocery bagger from Compton, but he did like to show his colors to get a rise out of anyone who would bite.

One Day the Dad, the thuglet and another volunteer, also black and from the west were driving back from some recon mission. Thuggie asked Daddy what he used to do. Daddy replied "spook in the Army" Thug was unfamiliar with the terminology in any sense other than the Jim Crow back in the day sense and felt as though a thorough pummelling of Daddy might just be in order. "Joe-bob" proceeded to quite vocally express his very strong opinion, much to Daddy's confusion. In between laughing like hell and random riotous snarfs of the nasal sort, the western volunteer attempted to explain to Thugster the espionage take on "spook", and to Daddy the venacular of the same. It apparently took a while through the tears and rolling around on the floor of the car gasping for a breath between choking on laughter. She of course was the only one who thought it was funny which of course made it even funnier. Cured Pops of the "spook" line for at least a little while though.

Mid day, we are told that we are all to go and inspect a local church shelter, so we all pile into a few cars and shoot off to the church. Its not that far from HQ, which is tweaked, because this is a bustling city full of people who live here. The shelter thing does just twist the brain around a little bit, but then when you think about it, we are all staying in shelters and so it seems is half of Louisiana. "Nough said.

Get to the church and we are given a run down on the staff prior to entry. I tell the two new ones to please listen and not speak if they can help it so that the staff doesn't feel cornered and get their back up. There are five of us. As soon as we get there, we all introduce ourselves, and Boss starts talking to the big church boss in charge. From what we understand, the clients have done thousands of dollars of damage, and the church wants the red Cross to again scrub down and replace everything. "Cootie Sydrome" again. Again, there has been no prior photo walk through done. Again, I have brought my camera.

The two recruits can't keep their yaps shut, a serious problem with the female who is wound tighter than a top. I have no one to blame but myself as I recruited them. She is an environmental engineer. He has a cleaning service in his home state. Sounds like they would be great for our department no? No. From all appearances, she is here to be in charge. Show the world htat she is better smarter sharper than anyone on the planet. She is there to kill something or someone. She is one unhappy puppy. I gotta remember to look up once in a while when reading a resume dang it. He is going through a bad divorce. Two days into his deployment we have all heard all of it. It is not pretty, but he is sorta ok. She is sorta not. We will have to live with them. Mea Culpa.

Walk through begins. Armed National Guard troops are posted everywhere. Clients are everywhere. The building is like a giant evacuee anthill. We go hall by hall, room by room, documenting and taking notes. Boss has made a bunch of ccolorful Cat's Cradle loops for the kids, and is busy teaching them the game. I am almost the only one who can do the game, but he is persistent. Kids do love it even if they can't do it. He and we teach them anyway.

In one hallway I come across an interesting sign. It says something about clients leaving bags of body fluids in bags in the halls, and threats to lock doors. Apparently some of the clients have been sneaking hookers through the back at night. One wonders if the "girls", are taking ARC credit cards. I so do not want to know. One of the things we do notice is the bleach stains on the carpets all over.

A sure sign of the Red Cross is bleach stains. The RC founder, Clara Barton who began the ARC in the 18oo's dictated the use of bleach for cleanliness. The ARC still adheres to that for some stupid reason, but then the ARC is still having volunteers and clients fill out gigantic stiff paper forms with carbon paper for f's sake. Oh yeah...I forgot, those forms can be folded into handy dandy folders. ARC origami if you will. There are only a handful of us at the ARC who have noticed that Clara Barton has been dead for quite a while, and that the rest of the world seems to have entered the twentieth century without her. The majority of the ARC apparently still worship at her dusty altar.

While everyone else was jotting and noting and schmoozing with bosses, I recorded all on a digital card, then slipped off and happened to find the departing manager, who told me that the church had already voted to pay for repairs itself, and that some meddling somewhat racist deacons' wife was the one making all of the noise about clean up. This manager told me that the church fully expected the type and scope of damage, and wished to take care of it. That it was not seen as a problem, and that there were twenty deacons at this church so as far as the church was concerned, the old trout could go whistle dixie...hmmm...whistle dixie. Perhaps that is a poor choice of musical selection considering the local.

My new info was confided to the group. It was a relief, as we had been gearing up for a chess match. Meaning, leave the church as we had found it, but no massive redecorating project a la the desires of unnamed wives of deacons. Whew!! We all said our goodbyes, took our notes and went back to HQ to write the whole thing up. Not me this time thank the lord. Or at least thank Boss and Big D.

End of the day. Where did it go? paper and more paper. Forms, protocols, lectures. What the heck? How did I get here from there I ask you? I am tired. went to din din, went to the shelter which is thinning out considerably since they plan on closing this one soon. Volunteers have slowed to a trickle, and I am still here. Cots are folding up and disappearing, Blankets are being bagged, air matresses are being deflated and stored. Looks like the ARC is giving it all over to the church which makes no damn sense at all as it was donated to the ARC, not the Hebron Baptist Church.

What the heck does the ARC plan to do in the next go round? Get more donations? Not from me. After seeing all of the waste, I will be damned if I give a penny to the good ol' ARC as much as I admire most of the organization. This donation and distribution thing is just a royal mess. In my time here I have witnessed massive wastes of money time and resources. It is supremely discouraging. I really pray that they get a handle on it before some doo doo hits some fan somewhere and you know it will. My time is another thing. I will give my time. In any case, my time is almost up, and the shelter is almost empty. Whats up with that? I plan to stay here until I go. I don't mind the drive, after all, I am from Southern California. Land of the long haul. I am in this for the long haul.

See you tomorrow.

xxoo

L