The newspaper had an ad, on Wednesday past.
The local men’s shelter needed clothing. It was an emergency, they said. Not dress clothes, they said. Any size and clean, they said.
The times for donations was Friday til 3pm. Or Saturday til 11am.
She works Friday. I go the other direction Friday. So Saturday works better.
I cleaned out Mr.Wreks closet. I had DiL do the same with my sons.
All were freshly washed. Never know about these guys liable to throw dirties in with the clean.
Had two largish boxes.
The Lil’wrekker hauls them down there this morning.
She would rather have not. Too early, too rainy, her hair looked crappy, her butt looked fat in those jeans, yada, yada…
But she did. I told her what a nice person she was. Praised her for giving up her Saturday morning.
She gets there. No one to help her with the boxes. She had pulled around the back, got the boxes out herself, raining. Knocked on the donation door. No answer, locked. Loaded the boxes back up. Cause, raining. Drive around front. Sign says no women inside. Ring bell.
She says she rang the bell a few times. No appearance at the door. She knocked, looked in saw men around a table. They didn’t get up.
She called me. I told her keep knocking and ringing. The men probably not supposed to answer.
She’s on an uncovered step. She said she held the bell and could hear it ringing over and over.
Finally a man in charge comes to the door and asked what she wanted.
She told him she had a donation of mens clothes for them.
He told her they weren’t taking anymore donations. And shut the door.
She says she felt like Dorothy at the Wizards door and rang again. He comes back and says you need to stop ringing the bell. She asked him to explain why, how, wherefore he couldn’t take these boxes of clean, decent mens clothes that we had carefully prepared, cleaned, boxed and gave up a Saturday morning to deliver?Just why?
He said “Don’t need them” and shut the door in her face.
Soggy, mad and confused she throws the damp boxes back in her car, drives to good-will donation box and threw them in the receptacle.
Went to the coffee place got a cold brew, probably drove too fast to get home.
Came in gave me a smirk and said “No more, ain’t doing it no more. I’ll take it to the drop in box, but will not knock on another shelter door, for you, Never ever!”
She’s mad as heck. Almost mad as a wet hen.
I thanked her at supper, for trying and having the good sense to go by the Goodwill box. I got a smarmy “you’re welcome, Mo…Ther”
Then I told her, “yeah, those jeans do make your butt look fat, btw”
