Well, my girl and I were a bit later than planned getting to the shelter. You know, I don't want to go - she doesn't want me to go, we rethink it all a few dozen times, cry, yell, then realize that I am, in fact, doing the right thing. The previous three weeks or so has led me to this point; I have to see it to fruition. That does not mean that it doesn't suck.
Now, I have been in shelters before. Wet shelters, where everyone was drinking, including me, if you count ingesting about 10 mg of Ativan (thank you, USPS, from Pakistan) a day as drinking. Because, if they smell booze on you, they kick you out. So I did the smart thing. Sort of.
This place was different. Run by veterans, breath tests, urines, the works. There was even a computer room with about 12 desktops. (The first couple dozen posts to this blog were written there.) I received a few harsh looks as I checked in (the new guy), but fortunately, I keep myself in solid shape at the gym, so I stared back harder. I wasn't worried; just tired and still a bit depressed.
After they processed me in, I was taken to my bunk - upper, of course, in a room of 30. There was a weight bench right outside, so that was a relief. I began to realize that this would be my home for a few weeks, and convinced myself that I was better equipped than the other 150 guys there to make due. After scouring the mattress for bedbugs, I went down to the cafeteria to see what was going on. Of course, there was someone there I knew.
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