Talkin' Bout A Revolution

I felt the drive to the Drop Inn Center was the most important part of the adventure, because I really felt anxious about the kind of situations I was going to be in within a matter of minutes. Abbie, Molly, and Shannon and I talked about the upcoming adventure of what we were going to be involved in, and we really did not know what to expect. We took more time than usual to find a parking spot, and after noticing the people that were quite literally hanging out on the outside of the place we were going, we knew that it was going to be a different experience. After we entered the building the room had a familiar smell of men in it with a hint of Lysol. The room was probably over one hundred feet square, and everyone seemed to be minding their own business and eating quietly. It reminded me of “Talking About A Revolution” by Tracy Chapman, with many people “standing in the welfare lines.” The sadness did not hit me until the second ten minutes of the experience. There was a bustle to the place and the water jugs were carefully arranged by the volunteer staff whom were there before us. I hated what I felt when I saw the mattresses, still wet with disinfectant, laid out on the floor. The men’s corridor had a line of green mattresses while the women’s room had blankets and whatnot. I could feel the burden of a the thousands of people who walked penniless through those doorways, I could taste the anger and disappointment that they were processing. Cleaning the dinner trays helped with taking my mind off of things, and though I only talked to a few people, the collective consciousness was that of sadness.