Homeless Shelter

I had the privilege of visiting a homeless shelter this evening. For a short period of time I was able to witness one of the attempts to assist society's victims. What I saw affected me deeply and I hope I can put down in words the impressions I took away with me. For the record all names have been changed.

The building that housed the shelter wasn't particularly impressive. It was one of those modern, designed by numbers (and possibly by a robot) buildings that leave an impression of irredeemable blandness. Still this is right in the middle of the city and rents are probably quite steep enough. I walked in through the main doors and found myself immediately in the common room where the chairs and tables mirrored the soullessness of the building. A couple of long tables dominated the room but there were plenty of smaller ones for those who wanted an impression of intimacy.

A woman sat alone at one of the smaller tables, she might have been any age between fifty and eighty. I tried to speak with her but she flinched at the sound of my voice and I decided it would be better to leave her with her private thoughts.
"She doesn't speak," confided "Kerry" one of the workers here. "In all the time I've been here she hasn't said a word". Kerry, like most of her colleagues is young, female and relentlessly cheerful. The cheerfulness is an act mostly she admits, "They see so much sadness, we try and remain happy around them". She doesn't need to say how hard that is sometimes, I can see the marks of strain around her eyes.

A large television dominates one wall and a number of the occupants sit at the long table silently watching the screen as if trying to reconnect with a world they used to know. "Steve" sits in the prime position, in the middle of a bench facing the television with the food counter just behind him. "It's going to be a cold night," he says, "I'm lucky I got here early". Steve might be in his middle forties and was once a physically powerful man, even now I doubt if any of his fellows would challenge him for his place.

I was surprised that they sell food here, I suppose I expected a soup line or something but "Jim" the manager told me that principally what they offer is a shelter. The seats, television, newspapers and various magazines all come free but they have to charge for food.
"It doesn't cost much," explains Jim, "but then it isn't exactly great cuisine either". I had to agree with him. I had a meal (for which I paid) and the kindest thing one can say is that you get what you pay for. Simple, solid food that will never win a restaurant review.

It started to rain outside and soon more people were drifting in. Jim tells me that a lot of people who normally wouldn't go near a shelter are driven in by the rain. It's going to get a lot busier tonight. I was in the way and decided to leave them to their work. Outside I could see people like me; dressed in suits hurrying home to dry houses and decent food. Most of them barely glanced at the shelter and the few who approached it rapidly recognised their mistake and backed away. There was a collection tin on the counter and I put a few coins in before thanking the staff for their patience and taking my leave.

As I left I felt saddened and a little humbled and it didn't occur to me to ask the most important question until I was on the train home. Where do all these people go when McDonalds closes?