Expectations

We walked into a large room with the dining area ahead and a large television in the corner to the left.

There was a doctor's office at the far end of the room and a few people were trying to visit the doctor. A few tried to ask me about the clinic, but I regretfully could not help them because I had just arrived.

I washed off their trays and washed down the tables so I was not the one serving them food, but I believe they had a bowl of chili, a piece of bread, plus one more thing. I remember thinking that it would not have been enough to fill me up, but it was all that these grown men had to eat.

The men seemed to be a lot more friendly than the women.

At one point, an argument broke out between two men and I worried that it was going to become physical, but everyone there continued on with their meal like it was an ordinary event.

My visit to the drop-in was not unlike everyone else’s. I was not surprised to see men standing on the street and the sight of a large group of homeless people did not overwhelm me. I had an idea of what to expect because of the feedback taken from previous groups. If I remember anything from visiting the homeless shelter, it was the man who talked to me the longest near the end of our visit. He asked me what my name was and he remembered it because he brought it up continuously throughout the conversation. This was impressive to me because most people don’t initially remember that sort of thing or even care. His name sounded similar to Derrick, but when I asked him to repeat it, I was still not sure and so as not to be rude, I did not ask him a third time. He did most of the talking, telling me that a few bad decisions and this is what could happen. He told me that with the state the economy is in, homelessness could happen to anyone, even to me. He was sure that everything happens for a reason and if it was God’s will for him to be in this state, at this time, then he was going to be content. He seemed intrigued when I told him my major was creative writing and said that he thought writing was probably the most influential type of art form. He mentioned he had a family and I wondered where they were. Before he left, he tucked two gold colored necklaces he was wearing into his shirt and zipped up his coat for fear of being jumped. He was very polite, more so than a lot of men of greater means and when he left, he said that it had been nice sharing a conversation with me. I felt like my interaction with him was the most significant because he was someone who possessed a very positive outlook on life, despite his circumstances.