An Opening

I found the thief in the sober living home a couple of nights ago. Another guest had reported a lot of change missing from his drawer and there was only one other person who could have done it.

By no coincidence, that person was returning from the gas station where they sell 22 and 40 ouncers. I asked him if he'd admit to having drank voluntarily, he swore he had not, I breathalyzed him and he was at .15/.16.

He said that wasn't drunk. I said, "Well, in many states it only takes .08 to be guilty of DUI, and you're twice that. Besides, you're not supposed to drink at all."

He then in further discussion admitted to taking the change.

I'd have let him sleep it off, but his anger and drunken state made it impossible. I offered him a ride anywhere, like the hospital or warming shelter, and he declined.

Then the guest that he had stole from came in, and that didn't go well.

Wronged Guest: Where's my money?

Drunk: It was just some change!

Wronged Guest: It was at least ten bucks!

Drunk: More like $2!

I broke it up and took out two fives and gave it to the wronged guest. I told the relapsed guest that I was covering it, and to just get his stuff.

He didn't do too well at that. Eventually, he was out of the house, and so were his things. I asked where he wanted to go. "No where with you" was not the most helpful of answers, but okay. He said that his girlfriend was coming to get him. That wasn't very helpful, either.

Having spoke with her - she called me after he called her - I knew that wasn't happening. I told him that she wasn't coming. That I could drive him anywhere he liked, or he could walk.

Instead, he called the police from where he stood yelling at us across the street. Been a long time since someone tried that one. It hadn't worked over a year ago.

Didn't work this time, either, as the cops are a bit more familiar with our sober living home status. Still, one had to test the waters.

Cop: How long has he lived here?

Me: Two months.

Cop: You know you can't just put him out?

Me: Our rules say he can't stay when he's loud and disruptive and drunk.

Cop: Do your rules supercede State law?

Me: No, they do not. But the State law I have in mind is the one where when the Salvation Army calls to report a loud and disruptive drunk on their property, you show up there and take them away.

Cop: Okay, okay, I was just asking.

Me: No problem.

After all that, I had to call the man's mom. She'd been paying for his stay here the whole time. Mercifully she did not answer, so I left a voicemail message. I doubt it came as a surprise to her.

Still, I told her she could call with any questions.

I was reasonably content with how it went, especially since I had called a guy who was looking for a place and told him that an opening just came up. He said I could pick him up tomorrow at ten in the morning. I asked if he had the program fee, he said "yes". Cool.

The next morning, I picked him up at the hospital. I'm not shy, I confirmed that he had both his ID and the program fee. He assured me he had both. I drove him to our sober living home.

In the living room I asked for his ID. He passed it over, and I took a picture of it. Standard procedure. If anything goes wrong after that, at least I know then who did it. I waited. I waited expectantly.

But I waited in vain.

Me: "Okay, so you have your program fee?"

Him: "It's on my card."

Me: (Assuming the best) "Shall we go to an ATM?"

Him: "I don't have my card."

Me: "Well, that's not quite the same as 'I have the money', but okay, where's your card?"

Him: "Helping Hands."

Me: "Okay, lets go get it."

I took him there. When he went out the door, I picked up his two back packs. Just in case. Not really my first rodeo. On the way there he related that the mail wasn't going to come in until 1pm, but it would be in the mail. I said that he could call me as soon as it came in and I'd pick him up. He said he'd call at 1pm.

Guess who didn't call then. Yeah, you're learning all about how sober living homes work, huh? I waited till 1:30pm, called, it went to voicemail. Ahh, well.

Late at night, after a long day, it was 8pm. Hey, that is late at night when you get up at 5:00am each day. My phone rings. I answer. It was a woman, identifying as a case worker for the man I'd had to have leave.

Her: "He needs to be able to pick up his stuff."

Me: "Were you wishing to pick it up tonight?"

Her: "Of course not, it's after hours."

Me: "Yes. Yes, it is after hours." (My perfect British sarcasm often goes over the head of the feebleminded, the drunk and those in bureaucracies.)

Her: "He can pick it up tomorrow." Me: "Not you?" Her: "Of course not."

Me: "I'd just as soon not have him on the property again, may I drop it off at your office?"

Her: "Yes, that's fine. *muttering in background* And do you have his phone that was thrown in the bushes?"

(Now, interestingly, he had claimed that I had thrown his phone in the bushes to the police, and they found that without merit as he had called them on that phone and was holding that phone in his hand. But what is interesting is that such a leading question in this day and age means that she is literally trying to trap me into some goofy "confession".)

Me: "I'm not aware of any phone thrown in the bushes. If you mean 'his' phone, he did relate a story to the police about that, but since he called them with the phone he said was missing and was holding that missing phone in his hand they found no merit to his story." Her: (without missing a beat) "What of his birth certificate and papers?" Me: "If it's in that bag, he will have it."

Her: "He'll need to check the contents of the bag to see if it's all there."

Me: "He may check as he pleases, but there is simply that bag, whatever is in it is all he'll be receiving. 9am tomorrow?"

Her: (curtly) "Fine."

I went over to the sober living home to grab that bag before anyone could further go through it. It was a small bag, and without going through it I could see that it was miscellaneous junk. I dutifully locked it in my car.

The next morning I was at her office, 9am on the nose, and it turned out to be a Salvation Army office. Of course. If there is a way of doing charity as badly as possible, you may be sure that the Salvation Army will be in it up to their insignia laden shoulders.

Me: "Here's the bag."

Her: (in front of another) "What about the bag with the paperwork? Is his birth certificate in here?"

Me: "I know of no bag of 'paperwork'. There is this bag. I do not know if a birth certificate is in it, as I have not looked."

Her: (rifling through bag hoping desperately to find identifying papers so they start milking him for federal grants and aid and such as soon as possible) "He said he left it there."

Me: "I should be cautious going through a bag so quickly. And I could not speak to what he said to you."

Her: (looking at me suspiciously) "Well, there are two sides to every story." Me: "Yes. Yes, there are. Which makes me wonder why you are so sure of his. In any case, there will come a time when you ask him to leave. As have I had to, and as a dozen before me have. When that does happen, you will be able to hear from the next social services worker about all the wrongs you have done him, and all the things you are withholding from him."

(I pause strategically)

Me: "Well, unless the next social services worker is less naive and more professional than you. Call me if there is anything else. Preferably before 8pm."

I took my leave.

I drove to ARC. Salvation Army's "Adult Rehabilitation Center" or "the Work Farm" as I think of it. There they exploit a hundred men give or take for their LINK cards, full time labor, paychecks, disability checks, federal grants, other donations and whatever else they can get their patty-paws on.

I waited patiently until 9:30am, across the street, of course. Still not my first rodeo, and I know they are always on the look out for me. The intercom then blared for the whole block to hear: "It is 9:30am, there will be a 15 minute break."

Artist's conception of what the leader of ARC looks like.

All the men then filed out like from a prison movie and into what looks like a prison yard. They milled about, some getting snacks, others smoking a smoke. Me, I was already pulling my car into a parking space near them. I got out, went into the yard and started passing out cards. I only had to clearly announce that I was running a sober living home for $70 per week, everything included, and I was surrounded by hordes of eager men, desperate for escape.

I had at least 20 passed out when a Fraulein came out. "You there, stop that! You have to leave now!"

Me: "You need a sober living home, ma'am?"

Her: "No, I'm with the church!"

Me: (leaving slowly) "Glad they take care of you. One day at a time, right?"

Her: "I'm not a guest, I'm an officer!"

Guy behind us: "I'd like a card!"

Me: "Here you go!"

Her male companion: "Stop that! Leave!"

Me: (leaving) "Hey guys, if you didn't get a card, ask for my number from someone who did! You do not have to work here forever!"

Now the funny thing about all that, besides a woman living in a shelter thinking that her church-awarded rank makes her all that, is that my granddad was British. As in living in the United Kingdom of Great Britain, or what most Americans just think of as "England".

And there the Salvation Army is an actual church, not the money making, money laundering, scamming machine it is here. And he, I well knew, had been a Colonel in the Salvation Army, or in other words, quite a bit higher than this Lieutenant at most was.

In any case, the Salvation Army doesn't like me. Probably for so many of their former guests escaping here. They had one guest of theirs sent out to try to scare me off last year, and I gave him my card and he later called and apologized and asked if he could move in!

So, there's part of how we go from one guest to another. And it's not over yet. There'll be more calls come in now, but most will not pan out. I'll go to other spots where there are men likely to need a sober living home and pass out cards there. Then more calls will come in, and most of those won't pan out.

Finally, someone will pan out. ID, money, desire for sobriety, etc. Then I'll have that empty bed filled.

To end on a high note, after that I went to the church. That's always going to end well, and sure enough, it did not disappoint! I made up eight bags of food for people at various sober living homes.

My wife and I placed one at a sober living home on Pasfield, then six more at a sober living home in Southern View! And the last one was for a guest of ours. But best of all? The guy at the sober living home in Southern View took my card and said that since they were full, if anyone called, he'd refer them to me!