The Night I Didn't Know How To Feel

Friday, February the 13th. 4:47 PM

Cliche, right? At least the date is. Whatever.

First off, I'm driving a bus that looks so ridiculous, I am laughing by myself driving this gigantic lard of a van as I make my way to the Student Center at Miami University to pick up the other two girls in my group. I want one of them to take a picture of me, but figured it could get awkward since they don't know my sense of humor - and I have class with them everyday for the next 3 or so months.

Anyways, driving to the mysterious Drop Inn center everyone has been reflecting on is painless. The van doesn't tip over like I thought it would, and I'm alive enough to be writing on the blog, so I guess we didn't die. Ha. Joke...

Right. So, we end up in front of the Drop Inn, and, as expected, people are loitering outside. I know this because previous Drop Inn goers have expressed how strange it is. I guess it wasn't so strange when that's what you're expecting.

It was only around 40 degrees outside this night. It occurred to me that if it had been colder, maybe not so many people would be standing outside. Nor would the Drop Inn be so vacant.

By vacant, you must understand that it was fairly crowded for the dining room-esque room we walked into.

There were little church pews in rows in front of a nicer TV than I have in my house at home. For a homeless shelter, this was ritzy. Young and old men and women were watching a standard news station while others sat at tables silent, laughing, conversing, or staring blankly at the three blondies that just strolled in. (That would be referring to my classmates and I).

It reminded me of a dining hall at Miami. Except instead of homogenous, upper-class, predominantly white undergraduates, there were just people who had something in common; for some reason, they were there to eat, because they didn't have a home, or perhaps they were merely there for lack of income, or for 20 plus of the men, were in the Rehabilitation program.

Then we met Billy D. Kevin is his real name. But he's a "mack daddy." (He described himself this way). I believed him. He had a swagger about him, he had charm, and he had a good sense of humor. What surprised me even more though, was his ambition. This guy wasn't "living the life," by any means, but in my book, he was THE MAN. He wants to move to Florida--no too many old people (so he said). Maybe South Carolina. I want him to have everything he wants in the world--and more. This guy came right up and asked us about ourselves, he was a great conversationalist, and I feel like I made a new friend. He was wearing a navy and white striped long sleeve polo shirt that at one point in the night, had chili dribbled down the front. I would normally tell a friend this, but for some reason, it felt inappropriate. This guy was in such a good mood, I didn't want to ruin it even if I was helpin' the guy out with some food on his shirt.

There was a laundry station near the opposite exit door. It looked like there was a washer and dryer piled on top of each other with a quarter slot on each. I wondered how often these machines were utilized.

Many of these people were very nice, others were more gruff. But isn't that how the entire world is? Why do I need to be judging these people? For all I know, in this economy, I could wind up at the Drop Inn.

Which leads me to another random thought.

I fricken wanted some of this chili. It looked awesome, and I'm not being sarcastic. I mean - yes - I was hungry...but it looked good. There were spaghetti noodles, beans, ground meat, etc. It was hard not to have a taste. I DIDN'T...don't worry. I don't steal from the homeless...but I felt like one of them. I didn't feel especially out of place or superior. In fact, I had a good time mingling with these guys.

I always knew that girls came with baggage, cattiness, and animosity. Women are said to be more aggressive drivers than men, girl dogs are more apt to fight with each other than boy dogs, and there was no exception at the Drop Inn.

I don't know her name, but she and a woman with a bandana wrapped around her head were cussing at each other while getting their chili.

"Fuck ass, fuck ass fuck ass"

The bandana woman said it with passion, but she wasn't yelling. The other woman had never smiled in her life I don't think. Her face was stuck angry. She was bitter and cold and confrontational.

And sure enough, it wasn't just a self fulfilling prophecy. She announced to the entirety of the Drop Inn that she was "on a search."

The men I was talking to started saying things like "here she goes" "isn't she going off a little early?" "here it comes" "oh now she's on her search"

At first I thought she was claiming to be on a surge. I wondered what a surge was.

Good one, Amelia. Search. S-E-A-R-C-H. Duh.

She had two blankets. One had apparently been misplaced. She starts screaming at the top of her bitter, confrontational lungs that someone had "moved her shit." Within two minutes, she was scolded by two people who appeared to be running the place. One man, one woman. The woman really got after her. I felt bad for the two of them.

I'm not sure if I felt bad for the woman who was going on a search for her blanket because she clearly had some mental illness or problem, or because people were shutting her down. I felt bad for the woman in authority for having to deal with the psycho.

Turns out, her damn blanket was three seats away--probably where she left it. She continued yelling after she had found it. "I got two blankets..." "I don't want nobody moving my shit"

I was staring. The whole time. I tried to smile at the blanket girl when she looked at me again. She never smiled back. I wasn't offended.

Leaving the Drop Inn wasn't terribly easy. I wanted to talk more. But, at the same time. There was a good sense to be leaving as well.

All I know is that, I don't feel comfortable being forced to judge. Well, maybe I'm not being forced - but I ended up judging by default. I guess I can't beat myself up about it. It's human nature. Right?

Friday the 13th of February this year was an experience. An experience I enjoyed. Will I go back? Probably not. But that's just me being honest, not mean or rude.

I have no way to end a blog post. I feel judgmental and rude. I enjoyed my experience, in all honesty will probably not return, but don't feel extremely comfortable writing about these people I live with in the world.

P.S. Billy D is my boy.