Sunday, November 8, 2015
Friday, November 6, 2015
Employee of the Month
So there I was, on the 14th tee of the Mountain Meadows Community Golf Course, preparing to tee off. It was a short, 125 yard shot over a murky, man-made lake. Not too difficult. It was Saturday, my day off, and my playing partner was Manny Duckworth, the dynamic and intensely competitive teammate from the group home.
In a couple of hours, I would be attending Short-Attention Span Rudy’s 12th birthday party. In fact, I would be hosting it. His own special counselor, Mellow Bill, decided to schedule his vacation this week without thinking to check on his special kid’s needs. So, I volunteered to be Rudy’s Temporary Special Counselor and put on the party, which basically means take care of everything: the cake, the presents, the decorations, the meal, the party games. I was more than happy to do it, I had known Rudy since he arrived at the Agency 3 ½ years ago and we have gotten along really well in his time here.
Each kid gets a fifty dollar birthday allowance from the house as well as a gift certificate to the store of his choice. Rudy had requested that I take the gift certificate and get him an MP3 player.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, lining up my shot. I selected a pitching wedge.
As I drew the club back, I thought: Let’s see, it’s almost noon now, the party starts at 2. I’ll be done with golf in about an hour, so that gives me about a half hour to get to Best Buy with Rudy’s gift certificate and pick up the MP3 player he wants. Then about fifteen minutes to pick up the sodas , prizes for games, and the cake I ordered from the grocery store, I’ll call the pizza place and order the pizzas during the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the house, put the kids in transition, get the staff to quickly get the decorations up and we’ll do the party. No problem.
Manny was casually leaning on a club and said, “You know Jenny’s going to be there. You going all out for her client.”
I said, “My concentration is impenetrable. Your sorry attempts have no effect on me.” I addressed the ball.
Fuck. I forgot about Jenny, Rudy’s therapist. She and I have had some spats over the years, the most recently over Rudy, in fact. During a tantrum, Rudy ripped his special blankie to shreds. This was the special blankie which his dead grandmother had made for him when he was born. It already had plenty of holes in it, so when he shredded it to pieces in anger and tied some of the shreds around his neck, I just threw it away. Jenny was livid!
Jenny has been a therapist there for about 15 years, about 5 years longer than I’ve been there. Over the years, you hear things about people and we’ve heard plenty about her. Her husband apparently had left her very abruptly to fly off with his Italian floozy girlfriend. In the mean time, Jenny has taken it upon herself to transfer all her feelings of abandonment on to her charges. For all I know, her husband is living happily in Italy with his floozy girlfriend.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, taking my backswing, thinking about Jenny and the party. As I started my downstroke, I thought: Let’s see, who’s working this afternoon… It’s going to be Toby the militant, plus three relatively new staff who I haven’t gotten the chance to work with. Toby tends to try to take over for inexperienced staff in an effort to help, but usually winds up making the house feel more tense with all his yelling. No matter, I’m just doing a guest appearance. When an experienced staff like me shows up when it’s not his usual shift, the kids are happily surprised, and usually respond positively, whether they love you or hate you on your regular shifts.
I struck the center of the ball with the edge of the blade. The ball was a low line drive that skipped over the water three times and sunk somewhere near the center of the lake.
Manny said, “You really just playing the best you can right now.”
I said, “You know, I’m thinking I should just get a head start on that party right now.”
Manny said, “I think that’s best. I don’t want anyone to get hurt out here. You got my five bucks?”
I knew I owed him the money we bet on the round, but instead I said, “What? I’m five strokes ahead!”
“Just think of it as a quitter’s fee,” he said. “You pay me five bucks for quitting, I don’t tell no one how I penetrated your concentration with my superior mental skills.”
I reached into my pocket and paid him. “Oh yeah, like you can keep your mouth shut. See you at work tomorrow morning.”
Manny exaggeratedly waved, “Bye-bye! Say ‘hi’ to Jenny for me!”
I got in the car and shot down to the grocery store where I ordered the cake. I took my cart up and down the aisles throwing in candy, soda, balloons and small, junky toys for prizes and treats. I got to the bakery and asked to pick up the cake.
The bakery lady shook her head. “That the one that say ‘Happy Birthday Rudy?’ That one ain’t done.”
I was pissed. “What the fff…. Fine. When’s it going to be done? I ordered it on Thursday, you know.”
“Should be done in about half and hour or so. You can wait if you want.” She had the far-away gaze of someone who couldn’t give a shit.
I said, “I’ll tell you what. I have to go over to Best Buy and get some other stuff. Can you just keep my cart here and I’ll be back in a half hour?”
“Fine with me,” she said.
The Best Buy was at the other end of the parking lot. I ran over there to pick up the MP3 player. When I asked at the counter, the dude said, “We ain’t got no more. Sold out.”
I got into my car and thought: Fuck. Now what? Well, let’s see… I did leave the golf course earlier than I planned, so I still have some time. There’s that other Best Buy about 20 minutes away, I’ll just go there, get the fucking MP3, come back, get the cake, toys, soda and shit and still be at the house in time.
I hopped on the freeway and got to the other Best Buy only to find out that they were sold out of the MP3 player too! I wouldn’t say I was panicked, but I was definitely worried. I looked around the electronics section for other things to get Rudy. All the other MP3’s cost too much for his gift certificate, plus he told me he wanted a specific one.
As I walked out to the car, I thought: Fuck.
Then I thought: Hey, there’s a Sears right across the freeway! I’ll just shoot over there, maybe they’ll have the fucking MP3, I’ll pick it up, shoot back up to the grocery store, pick up the cake and the cart full of shit, and be on my way. I’ll just be a little late.
It was fifteen minutes before the party was supposed to start. I called the house and Toby answered.
“Hey Toby, I’m running a little late cuz all the fucking Best Buys are sold out of the fucking MP3 player. Looks like I’ll be about 30 minutes late.”
Toby said, “OK, cool Stokie, we’re not doing much and the house is calm. I’ll tell everybody. See ya.”
Sure enough, Sears came through with the MP3 player. I had to use my own money to buy it, so I thought I’d ask the house supervisor, Yolanda, if I could just keep the gift certificate for myself. I also bought a gift bag and some tissue paper since I wouldn’t have time to wrap it. I shot up to the grocery store and ran to the bakery counter.
“Is the cake ready?”
The bakery lady looked at me. “I didn’t think you was coming back. Yup, the cake is ready, but your cart gone.”
“Goddammit! I said I’d be back in a half an hour!”
She said, “That was 45 minutes ago.”
I grabbed another cart and refilled it with the bullshit I put in it before. It cost more than the allotted fifty dollar allowance, but I thought, what the hell, I’m making overtime by doing this party anyway. On my way out to the car, I called the pizza place and ordered the pizza. I arrived at the house exactly 30 minutes late.
The first thing I noticed as I entered was Jenny glaring at me. Ignoring her, I called for a community group. All the boys sat down and I told them that we were about to have a birthday party, there would be games and prizes and treats and if they wanted to participate in the games and prizes and treats, they would have to go to their rooms quietly for a 15 minute transition while the staff set up the house. And that’s exactly what they did.
One of the new staff, Kristen, walked up to me and said, “I’ve never seen the kids go and do a transition so easily. Why do they do it for you and not for me?”
I said, “You’ve been here what, 3 months? The kids don’t know you and assume you’re going to leave any minute now. Give it another year or so. I’ve been here forever, they know what to expect from me. Here, stick one of these jawbreakers in ten balloons and blow them up. We’re gonna need them for a game.”
As she did this, I heard her muttering to herself, “Another fucking year….”
The party was really fun. I organized a couple of relay races, one where each kid from two teams ran around the outside of the house and sat on a balloon to pop it and eat the jawbreaker. There was a field-goal kicking contest with a paper football. I had promised that there would be a sportsmanship prize for the kid who was the best behaved, and when all ten behaved well, they all got a package of gummi-bears. The rest of the staff didn’t really have to do anything as the kids were so engaged.
Just then the pizza arrived. I called another community group and all the kids sat down.
I said, “Now, we’re about to have a nice pizza for Rudy’s birthday, but I wanted to be sure we give Rudy his due. Come on up here and sit in the Special Seat, Rudy.” He came and sat in the empty seat next to me.
I led the boys in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” and said to Short Attention Span Rudy, “I got something special for you, buddy.” I handed him the gift bag and he pulled out the MP3 player.
He was thrilled! “Wow, YES! Thank you Stokie! It’s just what I wanted, how did you know?”
I said, “You told me last week and you wrote it down for me three times, remember?”
“Oh yeah! I just didn’t think you would remember. Thanks!”
All the kids sat down to eat pizza, drink soda and generally gorge themselves. Looking up, I noticed JD, the chubby kid who looks exactly like Pumba from the Lion King, wolfing down heaps of pizza at a time. I was about to give a little speech about eating like a normal human being when JD suddenly looked up, eyes wide with panic. He stood up, threw his chair into the wall and ran out the back door. I had no idea what was going on, and I ran after him. I caught up to him and grabbed his shirt to stop him. When he turned around, I saw that his lips were blue!
I said, “Can you breathe?” He shook his head violently, eyes tearing up in a panic.
I said, “Are you choking?” He nodded.
I quickly turned him around, lifted his arms and put my arms around his fat little tummy. I balled my fists together and drove them upward into his stomach, the classic Heimlich Maneuver. Sure enough, he instantly blew out a huge, unchewed piece of pizza, along with some gobbed up gummy bears. I was astounded! The Heimlich actually works!
He coughed and struggled to catch his breath. He said, “Jesus! I couldn’t breed! I thought I was gonna die!”
“You would have if you kept running, JD. Now let’s be sure to chew our food before we swallow, what do you say?” I was shaking with adrenaline, the seriousness of the situation sinking in.
“Fuck yeah,” he said. “I don’t ever want that to happen again.”
We turned around to head back to the house. The staff and kids were on the back porch watching the whole thing, wide-eyed.
One of the kids yelled, “Oh my god! He just saved Pumba’s life! Hakuna Matata!!!” In fact, everyone started singing “Hakuna Matata” as JD and I walked back into the house. It was a good feeling.
As the party started to wind down, I called another community group. All the kids sat down on the couches.
I said, “I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for letting me come here and participate in the party. You guys acted great, were respectful and displayed excellent sportsmanship. Thank you, Rudy, for turning 12 and thank you Pumba for not dying on Toby’s watch.”
Toby was smiling and shaking his head.
I continued, “Now, the party has ended and I need you to do another 15 minute transition so the staff can clean up. And since Toby is working, I have no doubt that the house will be spic and span when I get here tomorrow morning. Thanks again, guys.” All the kids took their satisfied bellies to their rooms.
As I prepared to leave, another newer staff, Bryce, came up to me and said, “Dude, that was like a 2 hour vacation, man. We haven’t had a Saturday like that since I’ve been here. Thanks.”
I could also hear a couple of kids talking in their rooms, “Man, I want Stokie to do my party too.”
“Me too!”
Me too!”
I said my goodbyes to the staff and started walking to my car. Just then, Rudy came running out of the house and yelled, “I have staff permission! I have staff permission!”
“Ok, ok, Rudy, I believe you,” I said. “What’s up?”
Rudy took a breath and said, “Ok. I just wanted to say…you know…thank you. I know you’re only my Temporary Special Counselor and all, but I had a fun party today, and I think you’re cool, ok? I thought the party was going to suck cuz it’s Saturday, but it was the best one I’ve ever had. So, thanks, I guess.”
I said, “Rudy, that means a lot to me, thank you. I had fun too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His eyes got big. “You’re coming tomorrow? Oh yeah, I forgot!” He ran back to the house.
I was feeling pretty good after that, of course. Not only had I saved a kid’s life, but I caused another one to say thank you in a very appropriate way. Not bad for a guest shift.
The next morning I got to the house and Manny was already there, getting a head start on breakfast. I know what the new staff meant yesterday when he said it was like having a two hour vacation. Manny and I work every Sunday together from 6am to 10pm and with the way we use our humor, enthusiasm and camaraderie while we work, it usually seems like a vacation to us as well. I walked in ready to joke around with Manny about how it was I who really won in golf yesterday, when he said, “Just remember, it was part of our weak-ass union agreement that you don’t never have to sign nothing.”
“What the fuck?” I was confused.
He said, “Yolanda and stupid-ass Jenny are waiting for you in the Supervisor’s office. I made you some rocket fuel.” He handed me a cup of coffee.
“What the fuck!” What was going on here, I wondered. Yolanda appeared from her office and asked me to come talk to her. Jenny was sitting there, eyes averted. I sat down and Yolanda pulled out a piece of paper.
“So what happened yesterday?” she asked.
“Why don’t you tell me. You’re the one with the piece of paper. I came in, we had a party and I left. Am I missing anything?”
Yolanda said, “I’ve come to understand that you got here late, the present wasn’t wrapped and you undermined all the staff. So yeah, you missed a few things and that’s why you’re getting a verbal warning.”
My jaw dropped. “I’m getting written up? Who did you ‘come to understand’ this from? Did you talk to the staff on shift?”
“No.”
“You should have. Did you talk to any of the residents?”
“No.”
“You should have. That means there is only one other person who could have possibly tattle-taled on me. And that person can’t even look me in the eyes.”
Jenny cleared her throat and said, “How would you like it if a person you were counting on didn’t show up when he said he would?” Her voice was shaking. “And when he finally did show up, he didn’t come through with his promises and went on a power trip, making everyone around him feel useless?”
I turned again to Yolanda. “Are you listening to this?”
“I heard it, yeah.”
“And you’re buying this garbage?”
“You don’t have to agree with the write-up. It’s just a verbal warning. If the same thing happens again, it turns into a written warning. You’re supposed to read it and sign it.” She held out the piece of paper.
I shook my head. “I’ll do neither. I refuse to be dragged into Jenny’s personal issues. Plus, our weak-ass union agreement says we don’t never have to sign nothing.” I said that because I knew Manny was listening on the other side of the door. “And no, it won’t ever happen again. You know why? Because I’m never, ever, ever going to do anything extra for you, Jenny or these kids ever again. Don’t even ask because I’m just going to put my palm in your face. This place has a way of chewing up good, experienced staff members and shitting them out the other end. And Jenny? Right now the stink is on you.”
I got up and walked out of the office. Manny was standing there in the hall holding his cup of coffee.
He said, “Pretty much all you can say, you said. But you still ain’t getting your five dollars back.”
I said, “Hukuna Matata, mother-fucker.”
In a couple of hours, I would be attending Short-Attention Span Rudy’s 12th birthday party. In fact, I would be hosting it. His own special counselor, Mellow Bill, decided to schedule his vacation this week without thinking to check on his special kid’s needs. So, I volunteered to be Rudy’s Temporary Special Counselor and put on the party, which basically means take care of everything: the cake, the presents, the decorations, the meal, the party games. I was more than happy to do it, I had known Rudy since he arrived at the Agency 3 ½ years ago and we have gotten along really well in his time here.
Each kid gets a fifty dollar birthday allowance from the house as well as a gift certificate to the store of his choice. Rudy had requested that I take the gift certificate and get him an MP3 player.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, lining up my shot. I selected a pitching wedge.
As I drew the club back, I thought: Let’s see, it’s almost noon now, the party starts at 2. I’ll be done with golf in about an hour, so that gives me about a half hour to get to Best Buy with Rudy’s gift certificate and pick up the MP3 player he wants. Then about fifteen minutes to pick up the sodas , prizes for games, and the cake I ordered from the grocery store, I’ll call the pizza place and order the pizzas during the fifteen minutes it takes to get to the house, put the kids in transition, get the staff to quickly get the decorations up and we’ll do the party. No problem.
Manny was casually leaning on a club and said, “You know Jenny’s going to be there. You going all out for her client.”
I said, “My concentration is impenetrable. Your sorry attempts have no effect on me.” I addressed the ball.
Fuck. I forgot about Jenny, Rudy’s therapist. She and I have had some spats over the years, the most recently over Rudy, in fact. During a tantrum, Rudy ripped his special blankie to shreds. This was the special blankie which his dead grandmother had made for him when he was born. It already had plenty of holes in it, so when he shredded it to pieces in anger and tied some of the shreds around his neck, I just threw it away. Jenny was livid!
Jenny has been a therapist there for about 15 years, about 5 years longer than I’ve been there. Over the years, you hear things about people and we’ve heard plenty about her. Her husband apparently had left her very abruptly to fly off with his Italian floozy girlfriend. In the mean time, Jenny has taken it upon herself to transfer all her feelings of abandonment on to her charges. For all I know, her husband is living happily in Italy with his floozy girlfriend.
So there I was, on the 14th tee, taking my backswing, thinking about Jenny and the party. As I started my downstroke, I thought: Let’s see, who’s working this afternoon… It’s going to be Toby the militant, plus three relatively new staff who I haven’t gotten the chance to work with. Toby tends to try to take over for inexperienced staff in an effort to help, but usually winds up making the house feel more tense with all his yelling. No matter, I’m just doing a guest appearance. When an experienced staff like me shows up when it’s not his usual shift, the kids are happily surprised, and usually respond positively, whether they love you or hate you on your regular shifts.
I struck the center of the ball with the edge of the blade. The ball was a low line drive that skipped over the water three times and sunk somewhere near the center of the lake.
Manny said, “You really just playing the best you can right now.”
I said, “You know, I’m thinking I should just get a head start on that party right now.”
Manny said, “I think that’s best. I don’t want anyone to get hurt out here. You got my five bucks?”
I knew I owed him the money we bet on the round, but instead I said, “What? I’m five strokes ahead!”
“Just think of it as a quitter’s fee,” he said. “You pay me five bucks for quitting, I don’t tell no one how I penetrated your concentration with my superior mental skills.”
I reached into my pocket and paid him. “Oh yeah, like you can keep your mouth shut. See you at work tomorrow morning.”
Manny exaggeratedly waved, “Bye-bye! Say ‘hi’ to Jenny for me!”
I got in the car and shot down to the grocery store where I ordered the cake. I took my cart up and down the aisles throwing in candy, soda, balloons and small, junky toys for prizes and treats. I got to the bakery and asked to pick up the cake.
The bakery lady shook her head. “That the one that say ‘Happy Birthday Rudy?’ That one ain’t done.”
I was pissed. “What the fff…. Fine. When’s it going to be done? I ordered it on Thursday, you know.”
“Should be done in about half and hour or so. You can wait if you want.” She had the far-away gaze of someone who couldn’t give a shit.
I said, “I’ll tell you what. I have to go over to Best Buy and get some other stuff. Can you just keep my cart here and I’ll be back in a half hour?”
“Fine with me,” she said.
The Best Buy was at the other end of the parking lot. I ran over there to pick up the MP3 player. When I asked at the counter, the dude said, “We ain’t got no more. Sold out.”
I got into my car and thought: Fuck. Now what? Well, let’s see… I did leave the golf course earlier than I planned, so I still have some time. There’s that other Best Buy about 20 minutes away, I’ll just go there, get the fucking MP3, come back, get the cake, toys, soda and shit and still be at the house in time.
I hopped on the freeway and got to the other Best Buy only to find out that they were sold out of the MP3 player too! I wouldn’t say I was panicked, but I was definitely worried. I looked around the electronics section for other things to get Rudy. All the other MP3’s cost too much for his gift certificate, plus he told me he wanted a specific one.
As I walked out to the car, I thought: Fuck.
Then I thought: Hey, there’s a Sears right across the freeway! I’ll just shoot over there, maybe they’ll have the fucking MP3, I’ll pick it up, shoot back up to the grocery store, pick up the cake and the cart full of shit, and be on my way. I’ll just be a little late.
It was fifteen minutes before the party was supposed to start. I called the house and Toby answered.
“Hey Toby, I’m running a little late cuz all the fucking Best Buys are sold out of the fucking MP3 player. Looks like I’ll be about 30 minutes late.”
Toby said, “OK, cool Stokie, we’re not doing much and the house is calm. I’ll tell everybody. See ya.”
Sure enough, Sears came through with the MP3 player. I had to use my own money to buy it, so I thought I’d ask the house supervisor, Yolanda, if I could just keep the gift certificate for myself. I also bought a gift bag and some tissue paper since I wouldn’t have time to wrap it. I shot up to the grocery store and ran to the bakery counter.
“Is the cake ready?”
The bakery lady looked at me. “I didn’t think you was coming back. Yup, the cake is ready, but your cart gone.”
“Goddammit! I said I’d be back in a half an hour!”
She said, “That was 45 minutes ago.”
I grabbed another cart and refilled it with the bullshit I put in it before. It cost more than the allotted fifty dollar allowance, but I thought, what the hell, I’m making overtime by doing this party anyway. On my way out to the car, I called the pizza place and ordered the pizza. I arrived at the house exactly 30 minutes late.
The first thing I noticed as I entered was Jenny glaring at me. Ignoring her, I called for a community group. All the boys sat down and I told them that we were about to have a birthday party, there would be games and prizes and treats and if they wanted to participate in the games and prizes and treats, they would have to go to their rooms quietly for a 15 minute transition while the staff set up the house. And that’s exactly what they did.
One of the new staff, Kristen, walked up to me and said, “I’ve never seen the kids go and do a transition so easily. Why do they do it for you and not for me?”
I said, “You’ve been here what, 3 months? The kids don’t know you and assume you’re going to leave any minute now. Give it another year or so. I’ve been here forever, they know what to expect from me. Here, stick one of these jawbreakers in ten balloons and blow them up. We’re gonna need them for a game.”
As she did this, I heard her muttering to herself, “Another fucking year….”
The party was really fun. I organized a couple of relay races, one where each kid from two teams ran around the outside of the house and sat on a balloon to pop it and eat the jawbreaker. There was a field-goal kicking contest with a paper football. I had promised that there would be a sportsmanship prize for the kid who was the best behaved, and when all ten behaved well, they all got a package of gummi-bears. The rest of the staff didn’t really have to do anything as the kids were so engaged.
Just then the pizza arrived. I called another community group and all the kids sat down.
I said, “Now, we’re about to have a nice pizza for Rudy’s birthday, but I wanted to be sure we give Rudy his due. Come on up here and sit in the Special Seat, Rudy.” He came and sat in the empty seat next to me.
I led the boys in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” and said to Short Attention Span Rudy, “I got something special for you, buddy.” I handed him the gift bag and he pulled out the MP3 player.
He was thrilled! “Wow, YES! Thank you Stokie! It’s just what I wanted, how did you know?”
I said, “You told me last week and you wrote it down for me three times, remember?”
“Oh yeah! I just didn’t think you would remember. Thanks!”
All the kids sat down to eat pizza, drink soda and generally gorge themselves. Looking up, I noticed JD, the chubby kid who looks exactly like Pumba from the Lion King, wolfing down heaps of pizza at a time. I was about to give a little speech about eating like a normal human being when JD suddenly looked up, eyes wide with panic. He stood up, threw his chair into the wall and ran out the back door. I had no idea what was going on, and I ran after him. I caught up to him and grabbed his shirt to stop him. When he turned around, I saw that his lips were blue!
I said, “Can you breathe?” He shook his head violently, eyes tearing up in a panic.
I said, “Are you choking?” He nodded.
I quickly turned him around, lifted his arms and put my arms around his fat little tummy. I balled my fists together and drove them upward into his stomach, the classic Heimlich Maneuver. Sure enough, he instantly blew out a huge, unchewed piece of pizza, along with some gobbed up gummy bears. I was astounded! The Heimlich actually works!
He coughed and struggled to catch his breath. He said, “Jesus! I couldn’t breed! I thought I was gonna die!”
“You would have if you kept running, JD. Now let’s be sure to chew our food before we swallow, what do you say?” I was shaking with adrenaline, the seriousness of the situation sinking in.
“Fuck yeah,” he said. “I don’t ever want that to happen again.”
We turned around to head back to the house. The staff and kids were on the back porch watching the whole thing, wide-eyed.
One of the kids yelled, “Oh my god! He just saved Pumba’s life! Hakuna Matata!!!” In fact, everyone started singing “Hakuna Matata” as JD and I walked back into the house. It was a good feeling.
As the party started to wind down, I called another community group. All the kids sat down on the couches.
I said, “I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for letting me come here and participate in the party. You guys acted great, were respectful and displayed excellent sportsmanship. Thank you, Rudy, for turning 12 and thank you Pumba for not dying on Toby’s watch.”
Toby was smiling and shaking his head.
I continued, “Now, the party has ended and I need you to do another 15 minute transition so the staff can clean up. And since Toby is working, I have no doubt that the house will be spic and span when I get here tomorrow morning. Thanks again, guys.” All the kids took their satisfied bellies to their rooms.
As I prepared to leave, another newer staff, Bryce, came up to me and said, “Dude, that was like a 2 hour vacation, man. We haven’t had a Saturday like that since I’ve been here. Thanks.”
I could also hear a couple of kids talking in their rooms, “Man, I want Stokie to do my party too.”
“Me too!”
Me too!”
I said my goodbyes to the staff and started walking to my car. Just then, Rudy came running out of the house and yelled, “I have staff permission! I have staff permission!”
“Ok, ok, Rudy, I believe you,” I said. “What’s up?”
Rudy took a breath and said, “Ok. I just wanted to say…you know…thank you. I know you’re only my Temporary Special Counselor and all, but I had a fun party today, and I think you’re cool, ok? I thought the party was going to suck cuz it’s Saturday, but it was the best one I’ve ever had. So, thanks, I guess.”
I said, “Rudy, that means a lot to me, thank you. I had fun too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His eyes got big. “You’re coming tomorrow? Oh yeah, I forgot!” He ran back to the house.
I was feeling pretty good after that, of course. Not only had I saved a kid’s life, but I caused another one to say thank you in a very appropriate way. Not bad for a guest shift.
The next morning I got to the house and Manny was already there, getting a head start on breakfast. I know what the new staff meant yesterday when he said it was like having a two hour vacation. Manny and I work every Sunday together from 6am to 10pm and with the way we use our humor, enthusiasm and camaraderie while we work, it usually seems like a vacation to us as well. I walked in ready to joke around with Manny about how it was I who really won in golf yesterday, when he said, “Just remember, it was part of our weak-ass union agreement that you don’t never have to sign nothing.”
“What the fuck?” I was confused.
He said, “Yolanda and stupid-ass Jenny are waiting for you in the Supervisor’s office. I made you some rocket fuel.” He handed me a cup of coffee.
“What the fuck!” What was going on here, I wondered. Yolanda appeared from her office and asked me to come talk to her. Jenny was sitting there, eyes averted. I sat down and Yolanda pulled out a piece of paper.
“So what happened yesterday?” she asked.
“Why don’t you tell me. You’re the one with the piece of paper. I came in, we had a party and I left. Am I missing anything?”
Yolanda said, “I’ve come to understand that you got here late, the present wasn’t wrapped and you undermined all the staff. So yeah, you missed a few things and that’s why you’re getting a verbal warning.”
My jaw dropped. “I’m getting written up? Who did you ‘come to understand’ this from? Did you talk to the staff on shift?”
“No.”
“You should have. Did you talk to any of the residents?”
“No.”
“You should have. That means there is only one other person who could have possibly tattle-taled on me. And that person can’t even look me in the eyes.”
Jenny cleared her throat and said, “How would you like it if a person you were counting on didn’t show up when he said he would?” Her voice was shaking. “And when he finally did show up, he didn’t come through with his promises and went on a power trip, making everyone around him feel useless?”
I turned again to Yolanda. “Are you listening to this?”
“I heard it, yeah.”
“And you’re buying this garbage?”
“You don’t have to agree with the write-up. It’s just a verbal warning. If the same thing happens again, it turns into a written warning. You’re supposed to read it and sign it.” She held out the piece of paper.
I shook my head. “I’ll do neither. I refuse to be dragged into Jenny’s personal issues. Plus, our weak-ass union agreement says we don’t never have to sign nothing.” I said that because I knew Manny was listening on the other side of the door. “And no, it won’t ever happen again. You know why? Because I’m never, ever, ever going to do anything extra for you, Jenny or these kids ever again. Don’t even ask because I’m just going to put my palm in your face. This place has a way of chewing up good, experienced staff members and shitting them out the other end. And Jenny? Right now the stink is on you.”
I got up and walked out of the office. Manny was standing there in the hall holding his cup of coffee.
He said, “Pretty much all you can say, you said. But you still ain’t getting your five dollars back.”
I said, “Hukuna Matata, mother-fucker.”
Plus Size Girls
We have just picked the kids up from school and have begun our house recreation period. My teammates today are my buddy Mel, Toby, and Angelina who normally works at the unit next door, but is filling in as a sub for us. She’s a great looking Italian; thick, long, dark hair, pleasantly plump in all the right areas. Mel thought it would be a good idea to send her with the kids who were doing well down to the basketball courts while he and I watch a group of kids play horse with our portable hoop on the back porch. Toby is inside with the rest of the kids who are either unwilling or have consequences which prevent them from leaving the house. For them, it will be an afternoon of doing laundry and cleaning rooms.
Mel and I were quietly conversing about our substitute staff member while idly standing by the game of horse.
Mel said, “You gotta admit, that’s a fine looking woman right there,” nodding toward Angelina. “She got some tig ol bitties!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I’m with you on that one. I can go for a plus size woman every now and then.”
“Whatchu mean, ‘plus size’?” Mel cocked his head and squinted.
I said, “You know. A little extra here and there.”
“Why you gotta call her fat?” asked Mel.
“I’m not calling her fat. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, she’s a good looking girl. I’m agreeing with you.” I knew that Mel had a penchant for larger women, so I was surprised that he was taking this angle.
He said, “But you’re saying she’s too fat for you? Dude, that’s just wrong.”
“Damn, Mel, she’s not too fat at all! If I met her at a bar or something, I’d totally do her. I’m just saying she’s plus size. Not skinny. You know.”
“So you’d have to be drunk?”
“Mel, what the hell?”
Mel started smiling, “Dog, you just don’t know, do you?”
I asked, “What it’s like to be with a plus size girl?”
“Nah, man.” He said, “Me and her, we’re together. We be goin out and shit.”
I was embarrassed. “Come on, Mel, give me fucking break! You gotta let me know before I go off and call your girlfriend fat! I would never have said she’s got a great big fat ass if you’d told me before. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Mel was laughing now. “You know, that’s just not something you go around saying here. The boys find out, you know they start freakin or talkin out loud about it. But damn! You know why I been volunteering for those overnights lately though, huh?”
“I know now.” I said, “Getting a little late night action between units.”
Mel nodded, but was quiet for a minute. I imagined that they secretly met each other while they were each doing overnights at the respective units. I had heard of staff doing this before, but I didn’t really want to ask him about it. That way, I don’t have to lie if I’m ever asked about it by Admin.
Mel stepped closer and said in a quiet voice, “Dude… You ever been with a girl who didn’t take care of her business… downtown?”
“Downtown?”
“You know,” he continued. “Doesn’t trim or nothin?.”
I laughed. “Oh man! Do I need to know this? So you’ve got a little issue going on, huh?”
“It’s not a little issue.” Mel was still whispering. “It’s a big hairy issue. I can see if she don’t wanna shave it clean, but man, maybe just a little trim here and there.”
“Well just ask her Mel, I’m sure she’d do it if she knows that’s what you like.”
“Damn dude, I did! I keep on saying something about it. You know that girl’s Italian. They’re not foolin around down there!”
I was covering my mouth, not wanting to laugh out loud. “Oh my god, Mel. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He said, “I just don’t wanna be crawlin through the Amazon Jungle just to get to the river.”
Toby burst through the back door in his typical, latex glove-wearing, authoritative fashion. “Gentlemen, we have a problem.”
I said, “What, did we run out of laundry soap? What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?”
He was unfazed. “Fuck you. Chris doesn’t have any underwear. Not one. No clean or dirty.”
Toby was right, this was a situation. But to understand why, you have to understand Chris. Chris has anger issues. He came to us 6 months ago at age 10 after enduring physical and emotional abuse from his single, heroin addled mother. He had been prostituted out at times to her “associates.” It would be natural for anyone who has been through this to feel extremely angry and to feel like you have no control over what’s going on around you.
But Chris doesn’t normally act out with violence, he takes his anger and control issues out internally. It seems that he feels like the only thing he can control is his body, specifically what goes in and out of it. Chris can hold on to his shit for days, refusing to let it out. Apparently, taking a dump is something he sees as out of his control, so he refuses.
This has caused a few problems, some for him, some for us. He’s hurt himself by holding so much shit in. And when someone does that, the shit gets huge and hard, which damages the colon when it inevitably has to come out, and this is what happened to him. So it’s imperative that we make sure he’s taking proper dumps. The doctor has prescribed laxatives, so now it’s not a matter of IF he’s going to take a shit, it’s a matter of when and how he does it.
He’s still in the refusal mode, so he’d rather shit his pants than ask to go to the bathroom. I suppose there’s some feeling of power for him in this strategy, too. When he shits his pants, he won’t admit it, and even goes to great lengths to hide his poopy undies. We have numbered all ten pair of his underwear so that we can keep track of them at all times. If we can’t find numbers 6 and 7, say, then we know he’s had an accident and we can record it. It’s useless in asking him about it because he lies.
So when Toby says we have a situation, he is absolutely right. Mel is Chris’s special counselor, so he took the lead in trying to get to the “bottom” of this.
I followed Mel into Chris’s room, where Chris was sitting on his bed in his jammies, seemingly indifferent.
Mel said, “Hey Chris, where’s all your underwear?”
“What underwear?”
“Chris, you know your program.” I was happy that Mel was taking a matter of fact approach to this. Some counselors get so frustrated with Chris, but I see that as a result of Chris being passive/aggressive. “First of all, you know that if you have an accident, you’re supposed to tell us. Then you’re supposed to give the underwear to Toby because he loves doing laundry. That way we can keep track of your underwear and your accidents. Cuz you have a hard time telling the truth sometimes, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. But I need some underwear to get dressed.”
Mel went on. “So we need you to tell us where you hid the underwear so that we can do some laundry. That way you can get dressed. So where are they?”
Chris said matter of factly, “My roommate always steals my underwear. Can he have consequences?”
I said, “Nobody would want to steal your poopy underwear. Now Toby says that all of them, 1-10 are missing, is that right?
“No. I mean yeah. I didn’t do it.”
I said, “Chris, I know you’re trying to make me feel your anger by being passive/aggressive…”
“You always say that!”
“…And I refuse to become angry over this. If you’re feeling angry, you know you can talk about it with us or your therapist. But don’t take it out on your undies. Are you going to tell us where they are, or do we have to find them?”
“I don’t know. They’re nowhere.”
Mel and I started our usual search; under the bed, in his closet, in his book shelf. In the past, we’ve found them outside in the bushes, in the bike shed, jammed up the rain gutter.
Mel said, “I’ll look in the bathroom,” and opened the door and turned on the light. “Damn, Chris, is your fan busted? Not working.” He was turning the lightswitch on and off, trying to get the fan started.
Chris said, “It never works. It’s been busted for a long time.”
Mel got a chair and was looking up into the fan. “Chris, did you break it?”
“No!”
Mel was pulling the grill off the fan housing, looking up into the darkness, mumbling, “The hell? You broke it? Something jammed up in there…” He pulled the grill off and an explosion of shit covered underwear fell onto his face. He was momentarily shocked, stunned that he had just endured a waterfall of shit falling onto his head and now stinking up the bathroom. He recovered his wits and shouted,
Goddammit Chris, the fuck you thinking? What the hell is this!”
Chris said calmly, “I didn’t know they were there. I knew my roommate stole them.”
Mel was pissed. “The hell he did! You damn liar, I swear to God you gonna get some consequences!”
I said calmly to Chris, “Chris? I refuse to let Mel get angry because you want to be passive/aggressive. I’m going to switch off with him so that he can go take a shower, get something to eat or do whatever the hell else he wants to do for the rest of the day. But I’m going to be your special counselor for the rest of the day.”
This upset Chris. “No, Stokie! I don’t want you to be my special counselor! I want Mel to stay!”
I said, “And you know what we’re going to do for Special Time? I’ll tell you. We’re going to get some laundry soap and some latex, and we’re going to wash out each and every one of those underwears by hand right here in the toilet. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean YOU.”
This pissed Chris off. “No! No! I hate you! You don’t care about kids! You just want to torture them!!!”
I said, “I think we’re making progress, Chris. You SHOULD be pissed, and you SHOULD be saying those things. Only not to me.”
The rest of the day went smoothly for most of the kids. Mel took a shower and calmed down. I stayed with Chris and had him angrily clean out his dookie. At final count, there were 10 of his own underwear, 3 of his roommate’s underwear and one shit covered sock.
That night, after the kids had gone to bed, I was quietly writing in the house communication log, while Toby, Angelina and Mel were writing in the kids’ daily logs. The tv was on one of those damn Hollywood gossip shows. It was getting late and we were all looking forward to the end of the shift.
The tv cut to a commercial and wouldn’t you know it, a bikini wax ad came on. Mel exaggeratedly sat on the edge of his seat and put his fists under his chin. I thought I noticed Angelina silently squirming in her seat. Mel became more animated, sighing loudly, scooting his chair up closer to the tv.
Then he turned to me, cocked his head, squinted his eyes and sarcastically said, “Hey Stokie, what do you think that stuff’s for?”
Angelina jumped out of her chair and yelled, “Dammit Mel! Why don’t you just tell the whole world? You can do the rest of my logs!” She plopped her logs into Mel’s lap and stomped out the door, back to her regular unit. I buckled over in laughter while Mel just shook his head.
Toby looked up and said, “Did I miss something?”
Mel and I were quietly conversing about our substitute staff member while idly standing by the game of horse.
Mel said, “You gotta admit, that’s a fine looking woman right there,” nodding toward Angelina. “She got some tig ol bitties!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I’m with you on that one. I can go for a plus size woman every now and then.”
“Whatchu mean, ‘plus size’?” Mel cocked his head and squinted.
I said, “You know. A little extra here and there.”
“Why you gotta call her fat?” asked Mel.
“I’m not calling her fat. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, she’s a good looking girl. I’m agreeing with you.” I knew that Mel had a penchant for larger women, so I was surprised that he was taking this angle.
He said, “But you’re saying she’s too fat for you? Dude, that’s just wrong.”
“Damn, Mel, she’s not too fat at all! If I met her at a bar or something, I’d totally do her. I’m just saying she’s plus size. Not skinny. You know.”
“So you’d have to be drunk?”
“Mel, what the hell?”
Mel started smiling, “Dog, you just don’t know, do you?”
I asked, “What it’s like to be with a plus size girl?”
“Nah, man.” He said, “Me and her, we’re together. We be goin out and shit.”
I was embarrassed. “Come on, Mel, give me fucking break! You gotta let me know before I go off and call your girlfriend fat! I would never have said she’s got a great big fat ass if you’d told me before. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Mel was laughing now. “You know, that’s just not something you go around saying here. The boys find out, you know they start freakin or talkin out loud about it. But damn! You know why I been volunteering for those overnights lately though, huh?”
“I know now.” I said, “Getting a little late night action between units.”
Mel nodded, but was quiet for a minute. I imagined that they secretly met each other while they were each doing overnights at the respective units. I had heard of staff doing this before, but I didn’t really want to ask him about it. That way, I don’t have to lie if I’m ever asked about it by Admin.
Mel stepped closer and said in a quiet voice, “Dude… You ever been with a girl who didn’t take care of her business… downtown?”
“Downtown?”
“You know,” he continued. “Doesn’t trim or nothin?.”
I laughed. “Oh man! Do I need to know this? So you’ve got a little issue going on, huh?”
“It’s not a little issue.” Mel was still whispering. “It’s a big hairy issue. I can see if she don’t wanna shave it clean, but man, maybe just a little trim here and there.”
“Well just ask her Mel, I’m sure she’d do it if she knows that’s what you like.”
“Damn dude, I did! I keep on saying something about it. You know that girl’s Italian. They’re not foolin around down there!”
I was covering my mouth, not wanting to laugh out loud. “Oh my god, Mel. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He said, “I just don’t wanna be crawlin through the Amazon Jungle just to get to the river.”
Toby burst through the back door in his typical, latex glove-wearing, authoritative fashion. “Gentlemen, we have a problem.”
I said, “What, did we run out of laundry soap? What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?”
He was unfazed. “Fuck you. Chris doesn’t have any underwear. Not one. No clean or dirty.”
Toby was right, this was a situation. But to understand why, you have to understand Chris. Chris has anger issues. He came to us 6 months ago at age 10 after enduring physical and emotional abuse from his single, heroin addled mother. He had been prostituted out at times to her “associates.” It would be natural for anyone who has been through this to feel extremely angry and to feel like you have no control over what’s going on around you.
But Chris doesn’t normally act out with violence, he takes his anger and control issues out internally. It seems that he feels like the only thing he can control is his body, specifically what goes in and out of it. Chris can hold on to his shit for days, refusing to let it out. Apparently, taking a dump is something he sees as out of his control, so he refuses.
This has caused a few problems, some for him, some for us. He’s hurt himself by holding so much shit in. And when someone does that, the shit gets huge and hard, which damages the colon when it inevitably has to come out, and this is what happened to him. So it’s imperative that we make sure he’s taking proper dumps. The doctor has prescribed laxatives, so now it’s not a matter of IF he’s going to take a shit, it’s a matter of when and how he does it.
He’s still in the refusal mode, so he’d rather shit his pants than ask to go to the bathroom. I suppose there’s some feeling of power for him in this strategy, too. When he shits his pants, he won’t admit it, and even goes to great lengths to hide his poopy undies. We have numbered all ten pair of his underwear so that we can keep track of them at all times. If we can’t find numbers 6 and 7, say, then we know he’s had an accident and we can record it. It’s useless in asking him about it because he lies.
So when Toby says we have a situation, he is absolutely right. Mel is Chris’s special counselor, so he took the lead in trying to get to the “bottom” of this.
I followed Mel into Chris’s room, where Chris was sitting on his bed in his jammies, seemingly indifferent.
Mel said, “Hey Chris, where’s all your underwear?”
“What underwear?”
“Chris, you know your program.” I was happy that Mel was taking a matter of fact approach to this. Some counselors get so frustrated with Chris, but I see that as a result of Chris being passive/aggressive. “First of all, you know that if you have an accident, you’re supposed to tell us. Then you’re supposed to give the underwear to Toby because he loves doing laundry. That way we can keep track of your underwear and your accidents. Cuz you have a hard time telling the truth sometimes, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. But I need some underwear to get dressed.”
Mel went on. “So we need you to tell us where you hid the underwear so that we can do some laundry. That way you can get dressed. So where are they?”
Chris said matter of factly, “My roommate always steals my underwear. Can he have consequences?”
I said, “Nobody would want to steal your poopy underwear. Now Toby says that all of them, 1-10 are missing, is that right?
“No. I mean yeah. I didn’t do it.”
I said, “Chris, I know you’re trying to make me feel your anger by being passive/aggressive…”
“You always say that!”
“…And I refuse to become angry over this. If you’re feeling angry, you know you can talk about it with us or your therapist. But don’t take it out on your undies. Are you going to tell us where they are, or do we have to find them?”
“I don’t know. They’re nowhere.”
Mel and I started our usual search; under the bed, in his closet, in his book shelf. In the past, we’ve found them outside in the bushes, in the bike shed, jammed up the rain gutter.
Mel said, “I’ll look in the bathroom,” and opened the door and turned on the light. “Damn, Chris, is your fan busted? Not working.” He was turning the lightswitch on and off, trying to get the fan started.
Chris said, “It never works. It’s been busted for a long time.”
Mel got a chair and was looking up into the fan. “Chris, did you break it?”
“No!”
Mel was pulling the grill off the fan housing, looking up into the darkness, mumbling, “The hell? You broke it? Something jammed up in there…” He pulled the grill off and an explosion of shit covered underwear fell onto his face. He was momentarily shocked, stunned that he had just endured a waterfall of shit falling onto his head and now stinking up the bathroom. He recovered his wits and shouted,
Goddammit Chris, the fuck you thinking? What the hell is this!”
Chris said calmly, “I didn’t know they were there. I knew my roommate stole them.”
Mel was pissed. “The hell he did! You damn liar, I swear to God you gonna get some consequences!”
I said calmly to Chris, “Chris? I refuse to let Mel get angry because you want to be passive/aggressive. I’m going to switch off with him so that he can go take a shower, get something to eat or do whatever the hell else he wants to do for the rest of the day. But I’m going to be your special counselor for the rest of the day.”
This upset Chris. “No, Stokie! I don’t want you to be my special counselor! I want Mel to stay!”
I said, “And you know what we’re going to do for Special Time? I’ll tell you. We’re going to get some laundry soap and some latex, and we’re going to wash out each and every one of those underwears by hand right here in the toilet. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean YOU.”
This pissed Chris off. “No! No! I hate you! You don’t care about kids! You just want to torture them!!!”
I said, “I think we’re making progress, Chris. You SHOULD be pissed, and you SHOULD be saying those things. Only not to me.”
The rest of the day went smoothly for most of the kids. Mel took a shower and calmed down. I stayed with Chris and had him angrily clean out his dookie. At final count, there were 10 of his own underwear, 3 of his roommate’s underwear and one shit covered sock.
That night, after the kids had gone to bed, I was quietly writing in the house communication log, while Toby, Angelina and Mel were writing in the kids’ daily logs. The tv was on one of those damn Hollywood gossip shows. It was getting late and we were all looking forward to the end of the shift.
The tv cut to a commercial and wouldn’t you know it, a bikini wax ad came on. Mel exaggeratedly sat on the edge of his seat and put his fists under his chin. I thought I noticed Angelina silently squirming in her seat. Mel became more animated, sighing loudly, scooting his chair up closer to the tv.
Then he turned to me, cocked his head, squinted his eyes and sarcastically said, “Hey Stokie, what do you think that stuff’s for?”
Angelina jumped out of her chair and yelled, “Dammit Mel! Why don’t you just tell the whole world? You can do the rest of my logs!” She plopped her logs into Mel’s lap and stomped out the door, back to her regular unit. I buckled over in laughter while Mel just shook his head.
Toby looked up and said, “Did I miss something?”
Code Brown, pt 2: We Are the Champions!
It was the night of the big game.
Mondays are my day off but there was no way I was going to miss this. The gymnasium was absolutely packed. On one side were the parents and supporters of the team from the community, sitting in neat, polite lines. The other side was the group home side. Bellowing, colorful, in constant movement, flowing with excitement. I squeezed in to a space with the boys and staff from my house. We did our usual high-fives and special handshakes.
The group home side of the gymnasium couldn’t be more proud. We were already cheering and chanting, “We will, we will ROCK YOU!” Thump, thump clap! I looked around and saw that several of us had come on our day off. Administrators, therapists, supervisors, all of the boys from every unit; we were all packed in the bleachers. Some had brought food and snacks and were passing it around. It was a community atmosphere, carnival-like in its excitement. Very rarely do we have these kinds of events when we can all be proud of the organization. And yet, here we were, each of us feeling some sort of contribution to our team’s success.
It was time for the tip-off. The two teams lined up in front of each other to shake hands and the contrasts were more than stark. One of our boys had a mohawk. Some had large and unusually shaped heads. One was fat. Most were about a head taller than the other team. Any one of them could have poopy pants at any moment. They looked like a battle-tested gang of rag-tags with sloppy, untucked uniforms. What was really great to see is that they actually looked focused and ready to play.
The other team? Skinny little blond white kids, visibly frightened. They knew they were about to get thumped, and hard.
The ref tossed the ball up, and Randall, being the tallest boy on the court, tipped it and the ball landed in Apollo’s hands. Our team ran into position to set up the offense. This is where Apollo should have passed the ball to Darnell, the point guard.
But he didn’t. He dribbled the ball upcourt while Darnell was running behind him.
Darnell was yelling, “Here! Pass! I’m open!”
Apollo was ignoring Darnell, shimmying and shaking not only his defender, but Darnell too. Apollo dribbled the ball around the perimeter of the 3 point line, not passing to anyone, and dribbled all the way around it again.
Darnell was screaming now, hands held out, “Gimme the damn ball! The hell you doin?”
Apollo’s defender had backed off now and it was just Apollo and Darnell at mid-court, at the 3-point line. Darnell was now trying to steal the ball from Apollo. Apollo just kept running in circles, eluding Darnell, keeping the ball away from him. Darnell kept reaching, grabbing, flailing, leaping and missing Apollo and the ball.
Apollo was smiling all the while, “I tol’ you! I tol’you!”
Darnell was in a panic of embarrassment and rage. He knew he looked like a fool trying to steal the ball from his own teammate.
He screamed, “I mo beat yo muthafuckin ass!” Darnell tackled Apollo and threw him to the floor. There was a split second of jaw-dropping silence as Darnell proceeded to pummel Apollo in the face and chest while he was down.
The entire crowd emptied the bleachers, including myself. There was complete mayhem as staff and administrators tried to break up the melee. Some of the other boys who were in the bleachers began to fight too. There was food, boys, members of the community, referees, staff – all seemingly flying through the air at once. I saw some parents of the other team’s boys usher them out of the gym.
All the staff including the ones who weren’t working that night went into their crisis management mode. Some were proning boys, some pushing boys through the exits, everyone screaming. The entire court was covered in riotous bodies.
I was trying to find Apollo. I waded through the fights and the parents and the coaches to the middle of the court. I saw four staff proning Darnell, who was bleeding from the lip and livid, screaming and raving mad. Several staff had pulled Apollo, who was still holding the ball, toward the exit.
I said, “Apollo! You almost got yourself killed! You alright? What were you thinking?”
Apollo was hyper-ventillating and crying and smiling all at the same time. His face was covered in tears and his nose was bleeding.
He said between sharp breaths, “I tol’ you, Stokie! I tol’ you! I’m better. I want go to the house. I want call my mama. I’m better and I proved it. I jes want call my mama and tell her…jes want call my mama…”
Final score by forfeit: 0-1.
Mondays are my day off but there was no way I was going to miss this. The gymnasium was absolutely packed. On one side were the parents and supporters of the team from the community, sitting in neat, polite lines. The other side was the group home side. Bellowing, colorful, in constant movement, flowing with excitement. I squeezed in to a space with the boys and staff from my house. We did our usual high-fives and special handshakes.
The group home side of the gymnasium couldn’t be more proud. We were already cheering and chanting, “We will, we will ROCK YOU!” Thump, thump clap! I looked around and saw that several of us had come on our day off. Administrators, therapists, supervisors, all of the boys from every unit; we were all packed in the bleachers. Some had brought food and snacks and were passing it around. It was a community atmosphere, carnival-like in its excitement. Very rarely do we have these kinds of events when we can all be proud of the organization. And yet, here we were, each of us feeling some sort of contribution to our team’s success.
It was time for the tip-off. The two teams lined up in front of each other to shake hands and the contrasts were more than stark. One of our boys had a mohawk. Some had large and unusually shaped heads. One was fat. Most were about a head taller than the other team. Any one of them could have poopy pants at any moment. They looked like a battle-tested gang of rag-tags with sloppy, untucked uniforms. What was really great to see is that they actually looked focused and ready to play.
The other team? Skinny little blond white kids, visibly frightened. They knew they were about to get thumped, and hard.
The ref tossed the ball up, and Randall, being the tallest boy on the court, tipped it and the ball landed in Apollo’s hands. Our team ran into position to set up the offense. This is where Apollo should have passed the ball to Darnell, the point guard.
But he didn’t. He dribbled the ball upcourt while Darnell was running behind him.
Darnell was yelling, “Here! Pass! I’m open!”
Apollo was ignoring Darnell, shimmying and shaking not only his defender, but Darnell too. Apollo dribbled the ball around the perimeter of the 3 point line, not passing to anyone, and dribbled all the way around it again.
Darnell was screaming now, hands held out, “Gimme the damn ball! The hell you doin?”
Apollo’s defender had backed off now and it was just Apollo and Darnell at mid-court, at the 3-point line. Darnell was now trying to steal the ball from Apollo. Apollo just kept running in circles, eluding Darnell, keeping the ball away from him. Darnell kept reaching, grabbing, flailing, leaping and missing Apollo and the ball.
Apollo was smiling all the while, “I tol’ you! I tol’you!”
Darnell was in a panic of embarrassment and rage. He knew he looked like a fool trying to steal the ball from his own teammate.
He screamed, “I mo beat yo muthafuckin ass!” Darnell tackled Apollo and threw him to the floor. There was a split second of jaw-dropping silence as Darnell proceeded to pummel Apollo in the face and chest while he was down.
The entire crowd emptied the bleachers, including myself. There was complete mayhem as staff and administrators tried to break up the melee. Some of the other boys who were in the bleachers began to fight too. There was food, boys, members of the community, referees, staff – all seemingly flying through the air at once. I saw some parents of the other team’s boys usher them out of the gym.
All the staff including the ones who weren’t working that night went into their crisis management mode. Some were proning boys, some pushing boys through the exits, everyone screaming. The entire court was covered in riotous bodies.
I was trying to find Apollo. I waded through the fights and the parents and the coaches to the middle of the court. I saw four staff proning Darnell, who was bleeding from the lip and livid, screaming and raving mad. Several staff had pulled Apollo, who was still holding the ball, toward the exit.
I said, “Apollo! You almost got yourself killed! You alright? What were you thinking?”
Apollo was hyper-ventillating and crying and smiling all at the same time. His face was covered in tears and his nose was bleeding.
He said between sharp breaths, “I tol’ you, Stokie! I tol’ you! I’m better. I want go to the house. I want call my mama. I’m better and I proved it. I jes want call my mama and tell her…jes want call my mama…”
Final score by forfeit: 0-1.
Code Brown
It was a fine Sunday afternoon at 2 o’clock, time for the staff’s shift change. I’ve been working all day and will be on until 10pm, as will Brady, the 7 foot tall ex-pro basketball player, and Ross, a very caring and very large white guy. We had let Katrina leave already; Mel was due to arrive at 2 but he is always ten to fifteen minutes late.
Ross is in the kitchen. He’s been in the kitchen all day. Ross has been in the kitchen for the last three days. Ross is a near chain-smoker, or at least he was until he made the decision to quit three days ago. One of the better ways to avoid the kids if you’re having a bad day as staff is to volunteer to cook and take care of the kitchen. You have the kitchen counter acting as a barrier between you and the kids and it wraps three-quarters the way around the kitchen.
For the past three days, there has been a bounty of wonderful foods available to us for meals and snacks: pies, casseroles, omelets, salads, lasagna, cakes, smoothies, enchiladas, pizza, teryaki…Ross has been preparing one dish after another, even when it’s not meal time in an effort to stay off the floor. And as for cleanliness, the kitchen appeared to be downright sterilized.
I’m really trying hard to to support Ross here, but his being perpetually off the floor is starting to strain the other three staff on duty. For instance, Apollo, Ross’ special kid, has been having a hard time lately with his phone contacts with his mom. Apollo is a pretty infantilized black kid, and at 13, he’s tall and very skinny. He comes from the depths of the inner-city and has suffered mostly from neglect, the victim of an absent father and a mother addicted to alcohol and drugs. Apollo has recently brought up in his therapy sessions with Sam, that perhaps mom was drunk sometimes when they had phone contact.
Apollo’s conversations with his mom are already monitored, that is, it’s been legally established that a staff member must listen in to the conversation on the office phone in case the conversation somehow goes awry. Sam tells us that Apollo is too afraid to confront mom about being drunk during phone calls so they devised a system to let the monitoring staff know that Apollo wanted to end the conversation: Apollo would say, “Code Brown,” and hang up. Why it wasn’t “Code Red,” Code Blue,” Code 40,” or “Code Shlitz,” I’ll never know. So, “Code Brown,” it is.
As we were waiting for Mel’s arrival, Brady and I decided to take care of some house business by leading a community group. We called “group!” and all the boys sat on the couches in the living room.
Brady began, “I’ve been walking around the house and noticed that a lot of you aren’t really taking care of your hygiene needs very well. Specifically, when it comes to going to the bathroom. Lotta those bathrooms are really nasty. And as hard as it is to talk about, I think some of you need a little re-training when it comes to going to the bathroom.”
The boys were quiet.
Brady continued, “Ok, what Stokie and I are noticing is that there are some dookie stains in the bathroom in places they shouldn’t be. Some be on the toilets, some be on the wall, some be on the floor.”
There were instantly 10 different accusations shouted out at the same time:
“It’s my roommate!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Whoa!”
“I know who does it!”
Brady went on. “I’m not looking for someone to blame, I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble. I’m just saying there shouldn’t be any dookie anywhere in those bathrooms except for in the toilet. If you’re taking a dump, and the dookie comes out and you feel like you’re finished, what should you do?”
JD’s eyes lit up. “Flush!”
“Nope,” said Brady. “You wipe. With toilet paper. And now I have an even trickier question. You ready? How many times should you wipe?”
There were 10 different answers shouted out at the same time:
“3!”
“1!”
“4!”
“2!”
Brady’s demeanor was very calm. “See? I told you it was a tricky question. The correct answer is: as many times as it takes to get all the brown off your butt. If you wipe and you keep seeing brown on the toilet paper, you keep wiping til it’s gone. And I’ll tell you something else. If, for some reason you get some dookie on your fingers or hand, you sho as hell don’t wipe it on the walls or the floor. You need to clean it up with soap and water.” Brady chuckled and added, “And Ross is gonna be going around to check too.”
“Like Hell I am,” grumbled Ross from the kitchen.
I started my part of the group. “Ok, I just want to let you know real quick that some of you need to work on your social skills. When someone enters the house, like a staff or a therapist or whatever, I know you guys get excited and happy, and that’s ok. What’s not ok is when half the house bum-rushes someone when they come in. Ok? Let that person enter the house, see what’s going on, and then come up to them in a calm manner and say something like, ‘Hello, it’s nice to see you. How are you?’ That’s the way to start an appropriate conversation with appropriate boundaries. And I’ll tell you this, those of you who are having dookie problems better have washed up with soap and water if you want that person to give you a handshake.”
I continued, “Ok, that said this is what’s going on today. I wanna say congratulations to those of you on the basketball team. Apollo, Marcus, everyone’s real proud of you guys. The team has done great this year and I think it’s awesome that you guys have made it to the championship game tomorrow. We have basketball practice in just a few, Ross will be taking you down there.”
“Not with a souffle in the oven I’m not,” grumbled Ross.
Indeed, we have made it to the championship game. Every year, we field a team of 7th graders from every unit to participate in the community basketball league and our guys have actually gone undefeated for the entire season. This is a great source of pride for everybody in the organization and our guys will be going for the glory tomorrow evening.
I went on, “I know that Mel said he was going to organize a Nintendo tournament when he gets in, so we’ll wait for him for that. Anything else you want to say Brady?”
Brady shook his head, “Let’s just have a good day.”
I turned to Ross in the kitchen, “How about you, Julia Child?”
“Just leave me alone,” he said.
“Ok then, looks like Mel is pulling up now, let’s end group and have a good day.”
I went over to the kitchen counter to see if Ross really was making a souffle.
Apollo walked up with me and whined, “I want call my mom.”
Apollo has a very annoying habit of baby-talking and whining. We sometimes call him the Praying Mantis because he walks on his tiptoes and puts his hands up like a begging puppy when he’s feeling needy. He was doing this now.
I said, “Well Apollo, I think this is a perfect time for you and your special counselor Ross to talk. Maybe you guys can go on a nice, long walk. Whaddya say, Ross?”
Ross did a slow burn and said under his breath, “Fuckin Stokie…”
Apollo said to Ross in his nasally voice, “Can we have special time? I want call my mom. Will you come down to basketball?
Ross was irritated, “Damn Apollo, stop whining! You been whining all day.”
“No I haven’t,” said Apollo. “I want special time. Me and you need special time, can we have it? Can I help you cook? I want call my mom, we haven’t had special time in long time…” Apollo was entering the kitchen.
“Get outta my damn kitchen, Apollo!” Ross pushed Apollo.
Apollo was undeterred, “We need call my mom, take me down to basketball, I want special time…” He was fully invested in his praying mantis character.
Ross was losing it. “Damn, get outta here, Mantis! You think that shit is funny? You look like an idiot! Put your hands down. I’m not in the mood for special time. Maybe tomorrow.” Ross pushed him again.
I said, “This isn’t really working for me,” and ran to the staff office, and pulled out the pack of Marlboro Reds I had been saving for three days. I came back out to the kitchen where Ross was now shoving Apollo out of his way. “Hey Ross, I’m proud of you man. Three days, that’s great! Next time, maybe four days. Here!”
I tossed the cigarettes to him. “Oh thank God, Stokie. I was about to choke him.” He immediately stepped outside and lit one up.
Just then, Mel walked in. JD very quickly, yet appropriately, walked up to Mel, extended his freshly washed hand and said, “Hello Mel! How are you!”
Mel completely ignored JD and scrunched up his nose. “Smells like shit in here.”
I turned to Apollo. “I’ll monitor your phone call if you want. Plus, I’m taking you guys down to basketball practice. Ross just needs a minute to chill. You want to get on the phone and I’ll go into the office?”
Apollo tippy-toed to the phone and whined, “K.”
I picked up the phone in the staff office. Apollo had already dialed and his mom picked up.
“Hulla?”
“Hi.”
There was a long pause. I could hear some tv talk show blaring in the background. His mom said, “Who this?”
Apollo said, “It’s me.”
“Huh?”
“Me.”
“Oh.”
Another long pause. Apollo said, “Whatchu lookin at?”
“Huh?”
“Whatchu lookin at?”
“Oh. Some kinda show.” I thought I heard the clink of bottles, but wasn’t sure.
Apollo went on, “We in the big game.”
“Huh?”
“We in the big game.”
“Oh. What game?”
“Basketball, mama. I tol’ you. We in the big game.”
“You in the big game? When?”
“Tomorrow, mama. I tol’ you. You comin?” Another long pause. Apollo repeated, “You comin?”
“Huh?”
“You comin?”
“Oh, you know I can’t get no ride. I ain’t comin.” Long pause. Then she asked, “Whatchu lookin at?”
Apollo said, “Huh?”
“Huh?”
“We ain’t watchin tv, mama.”
“Oh.”
“I’m point guard.”
“Huh?”
“Point guard.”
“Who is?”
“I’m point guard, mama. In the big game. I’m point guard. Tomorrow we gon play the championship. You comin?” During the pause that came after that, I definitely did hear some bottles clinking.
Mama mumbled, “Shit…”
“What happened, mama?”
“Huh?”
“Mama, is you Code Brown?”
“Shit…”
Apollo hung up the phone.
I came back out to talk to Apollo. “Hey man, I’m sorry she was Code Brown. But you did real good, you hung up when you were supposed to. I’m sorry, dude”
“Okay,” he said with his nasally whine. “She jes doin what she always doin.”
I asked, “Apollo, why did you tell her you’re the point guard? You’re not the point guard, Darnell is.” Darnell is a big, mean strong kid from two units down.
Apollo said, “I SHOULD be point guard. They say the best player always get to be point guard and I’m the best player.”
I can say with some confidence that Apollo is not the best player. Darnell is the best player.
I said, “Well, you just play the position the coach tells you to play. We gotta go anyway. Get your gear and let’s go.”
We hopped in the van and I drove across campus to the gymnasium. Practice had just begun and Marcus and Apollo joined the rest of the team who were doing their usual warm up drills. The team’s head coach is Ricky Kinglsey, the Recreation Director of the organization and the two assistant coaches were staff from two other houses. Sitting on the bleachers behind the team bench were a group of staff who had brought their kids down. Practice is usually about 2 hours long and most staff will drop off the kids and come back to get them when practice is over. But we liked to linger a little while to watch the kids and engage in some campus gossip. I took a seat near Guru, who was wearing dark sunglasses and a hoodie sweatshirt under his buttoned up denim jacket, and Toby, who was doing a sub shift for another unit.
I said to Toby, “Hey man, you can’t be down here, who’s gonna clean up the house while the kids are acting out?”
He said, “Lemme tell you something.” He was using his authoritative, lecturing voice. “You might think it’s funny but they don’t know what they’re doing down there. I’ve done 9 loads of laundry already. If it wasn’t for me subbing down there, these kids would all be running around with stinky-ass clothes. I bet YOUR lazy ass hasn’t even done one load.
“Yeah, Tob,” I said, “you got me there. But let me know if you need any extra latex gloves. You’re probably single-handedly depleting the house’s reserve.”
Toby winced, “You think I’m gonna touch those foul-ass clothes with my bare hands? Hell no!”
The boys had started a scrimmage and were running different plays. Each time the ball was passed to the center, Randall, the tallest kid, he would immediately spin and heave the ball to the basket or backboard, miss, get the rebound and heave it again. He would shoot and get his own rebound 5 or 6 times before he either made the shot or someone else got the rebound. It was a wild display.
I turned to Guru, “Man, how can you stand the heat in those clothes? It’s stifling in here.”
He slowly turned his head to me, pulled down his glasses and glared. Then he slowly turned back to the scrimmage where Randall, once again was heaving and rebounding.
Guru said to no one in particular, “Right now I’ve got a problem with the coaching staff…”
He suddenly slammed down his hand on the bleachers, turned to me and yelled, “Never play a psychotic at center!”
Ricky Kingsley heard this, blew his whistle and called all the boys over to re-group. They convened by the bleachers and drank some water while Ricky talked about tomorrows game. I was more interested in the conversation that started up between Apollo and Darnell.
Apollo said to Darnell in his annoying drone, “Don’t you think I should be point guard?”
Darnell attempted to brush him off, “Oh please. Get outta my face.”
The whine continued, “I want be point guard. You gon’ see, I’m better.”
“Get the hell away from me ‘fo’ I beat yo ass.”
“What if I aks coach?”
“I’ll beat yo ass.”
“I mo aks him.”
“I’ll beat yo ass."
“What if I’m better than you and I give you a shimmy and shake and then I get the ball? Then I’ll be point guard.”
“You do that, I’ll beat yo ass. Apollo. You ain’t better. There’s only one point guard and that’s me. From now until forever. Get outta my face ‘fo’ I beat you ass.”
That was the end of the conversation. The boys resumed practice, with Darnell at point guard, and the rest of us staff slowly went back to the vans and up to our houses.
I walked in and JD immediately ran up to me, “Stokie!” He was attempting to give me a hug and I could feel is dank, clammy hands rubbing on my arms.
I pushed him away, “Damn JD! You think I want your nasty, unwashed hands all over me? Come on, man, boundaries! That’s nasty!”
Ross looked up from the game of paper football he was playing with a couple kids and laughed, “Hey Stokie, you need one?” He held up his pack of smokes.
I said, “I see you took your medicine. Now that’s the Ross I know!”
Ross is in the kitchen. He’s been in the kitchen all day. Ross has been in the kitchen for the last three days. Ross is a near chain-smoker, or at least he was until he made the decision to quit three days ago. One of the better ways to avoid the kids if you’re having a bad day as staff is to volunteer to cook and take care of the kitchen. You have the kitchen counter acting as a barrier between you and the kids and it wraps three-quarters the way around the kitchen.
For the past three days, there has been a bounty of wonderful foods available to us for meals and snacks: pies, casseroles, omelets, salads, lasagna, cakes, smoothies, enchiladas, pizza, teryaki…Ross has been preparing one dish after another, even when it’s not meal time in an effort to stay off the floor. And as for cleanliness, the kitchen appeared to be downright sterilized.
I’m really trying hard to to support Ross here, but his being perpetually off the floor is starting to strain the other three staff on duty. For instance, Apollo, Ross’ special kid, has been having a hard time lately with his phone contacts with his mom. Apollo is a pretty infantilized black kid, and at 13, he’s tall and very skinny. He comes from the depths of the inner-city and has suffered mostly from neglect, the victim of an absent father and a mother addicted to alcohol and drugs. Apollo has recently brought up in his therapy sessions with Sam, that perhaps mom was drunk sometimes when they had phone contact.
Apollo’s conversations with his mom are already monitored, that is, it’s been legally established that a staff member must listen in to the conversation on the office phone in case the conversation somehow goes awry. Sam tells us that Apollo is too afraid to confront mom about being drunk during phone calls so they devised a system to let the monitoring staff know that Apollo wanted to end the conversation: Apollo would say, “Code Brown,” and hang up. Why it wasn’t “Code Red,” Code Blue,” Code 40,” or “Code Shlitz,” I’ll never know. So, “Code Brown,” it is.
As we were waiting for Mel’s arrival, Brady and I decided to take care of some house business by leading a community group. We called “group!” and all the boys sat on the couches in the living room.
Brady began, “I’ve been walking around the house and noticed that a lot of you aren’t really taking care of your hygiene needs very well. Specifically, when it comes to going to the bathroom. Lotta those bathrooms are really nasty. And as hard as it is to talk about, I think some of you need a little re-training when it comes to going to the bathroom.”
The boys were quiet.
Brady continued, “Ok, what Stokie and I are noticing is that there are some dookie stains in the bathroom in places they shouldn’t be. Some be on the toilets, some be on the wall, some be on the floor.”
There were instantly 10 different accusations shouted out at the same time:
“It’s my roommate!”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Whoa!”
“I know who does it!”
Brady went on. “I’m not looking for someone to blame, I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble. I’m just saying there shouldn’t be any dookie anywhere in those bathrooms except for in the toilet. If you’re taking a dump, and the dookie comes out and you feel like you’re finished, what should you do?”
JD’s eyes lit up. “Flush!”
“Nope,” said Brady. “You wipe. With toilet paper. And now I have an even trickier question. You ready? How many times should you wipe?”
There were 10 different answers shouted out at the same time:
“3!”
“1!”
“4!”
“2!”
Brady’s demeanor was very calm. “See? I told you it was a tricky question. The correct answer is: as many times as it takes to get all the brown off your butt. If you wipe and you keep seeing brown on the toilet paper, you keep wiping til it’s gone. And I’ll tell you something else. If, for some reason you get some dookie on your fingers or hand, you sho as hell don’t wipe it on the walls or the floor. You need to clean it up with soap and water.” Brady chuckled and added, “And Ross is gonna be going around to check too.”
“Like Hell I am,” grumbled Ross from the kitchen.
I started my part of the group. “Ok, I just want to let you know real quick that some of you need to work on your social skills. When someone enters the house, like a staff or a therapist or whatever, I know you guys get excited and happy, and that’s ok. What’s not ok is when half the house bum-rushes someone when they come in. Ok? Let that person enter the house, see what’s going on, and then come up to them in a calm manner and say something like, ‘Hello, it’s nice to see you. How are you?’ That’s the way to start an appropriate conversation with appropriate boundaries. And I’ll tell you this, those of you who are having dookie problems better have washed up with soap and water if you want that person to give you a handshake.”
I continued, “Ok, that said this is what’s going on today. I wanna say congratulations to those of you on the basketball team. Apollo, Marcus, everyone’s real proud of you guys. The team has done great this year and I think it’s awesome that you guys have made it to the championship game tomorrow. We have basketball practice in just a few, Ross will be taking you down there.”
“Not with a souffle in the oven I’m not,” grumbled Ross.
Indeed, we have made it to the championship game. Every year, we field a team of 7th graders from every unit to participate in the community basketball league and our guys have actually gone undefeated for the entire season. This is a great source of pride for everybody in the organization and our guys will be going for the glory tomorrow evening.
I went on, “I know that Mel said he was going to organize a Nintendo tournament when he gets in, so we’ll wait for him for that. Anything else you want to say Brady?”
Brady shook his head, “Let’s just have a good day.”
I turned to Ross in the kitchen, “How about you, Julia Child?”
“Just leave me alone,” he said.
“Ok then, looks like Mel is pulling up now, let’s end group and have a good day.”
I went over to the kitchen counter to see if Ross really was making a souffle.
Apollo walked up with me and whined, “I want call my mom.”
Apollo has a very annoying habit of baby-talking and whining. We sometimes call him the Praying Mantis because he walks on his tiptoes and puts his hands up like a begging puppy when he’s feeling needy. He was doing this now.
I said, “Well Apollo, I think this is a perfect time for you and your special counselor Ross to talk. Maybe you guys can go on a nice, long walk. Whaddya say, Ross?”
Ross did a slow burn and said under his breath, “Fuckin Stokie…”
Apollo said to Ross in his nasally voice, “Can we have special time? I want call my mom. Will you come down to basketball?
Ross was irritated, “Damn Apollo, stop whining! You been whining all day.”
“No I haven’t,” said Apollo. “I want special time. Me and you need special time, can we have it? Can I help you cook? I want call my mom, we haven’t had special time in long time…” Apollo was entering the kitchen.
“Get outta my damn kitchen, Apollo!” Ross pushed Apollo.
Apollo was undeterred, “We need call my mom, take me down to basketball, I want special time…” He was fully invested in his praying mantis character.
Ross was losing it. “Damn, get outta here, Mantis! You think that shit is funny? You look like an idiot! Put your hands down. I’m not in the mood for special time. Maybe tomorrow.” Ross pushed him again.
I said, “This isn’t really working for me,” and ran to the staff office, and pulled out the pack of Marlboro Reds I had been saving for three days. I came back out to the kitchen where Ross was now shoving Apollo out of his way. “Hey Ross, I’m proud of you man. Three days, that’s great! Next time, maybe four days. Here!”
I tossed the cigarettes to him. “Oh thank God, Stokie. I was about to choke him.” He immediately stepped outside and lit one up.
Just then, Mel walked in. JD very quickly, yet appropriately, walked up to Mel, extended his freshly washed hand and said, “Hello Mel! How are you!”
Mel completely ignored JD and scrunched up his nose. “Smells like shit in here.”
I turned to Apollo. “I’ll monitor your phone call if you want. Plus, I’m taking you guys down to basketball practice. Ross just needs a minute to chill. You want to get on the phone and I’ll go into the office?”
Apollo tippy-toed to the phone and whined, “K.”
I picked up the phone in the staff office. Apollo had already dialed and his mom picked up.
“Hulla?”
“Hi.”
There was a long pause. I could hear some tv talk show blaring in the background. His mom said, “Who this?”
Apollo said, “It’s me.”
“Huh?”
“Me.”
“Oh.”
Another long pause. Apollo said, “Whatchu lookin at?”
“Huh?”
“Whatchu lookin at?”
“Oh. Some kinda show.” I thought I heard the clink of bottles, but wasn’t sure.
Apollo went on, “We in the big game.”
“Huh?”
“We in the big game.”
“Oh. What game?”
“Basketball, mama. I tol’ you. We in the big game.”
“You in the big game? When?”
“Tomorrow, mama. I tol’ you. You comin?” Another long pause. Apollo repeated, “You comin?”
“Huh?”
“You comin?”
“Oh, you know I can’t get no ride. I ain’t comin.” Long pause. Then she asked, “Whatchu lookin at?”
Apollo said, “Huh?”
“Huh?”
“We ain’t watchin tv, mama.”
“Oh.”
“I’m point guard.”
“Huh?”
“Point guard.”
“Who is?”
“I’m point guard, mama. In the big game. I’m point guard. Tomorrow we gon play the championship. You comin?” During the pause that came after that, I definitely did hear some bottles clinking.
Mama mumbled, “Shit…”
“What happened, mama?”
“Huh?”
“Mama, is you Code Brown?”
“Shit…”
Apollo hung up the phone.
I came back out to talk to Apollo. “Hey man, I’m sorry she was Code Brown. But you did real good, you hung up when you were supposed to. I’m sorry, dude”
“Okay,” he said with his nasally whine. “She jes doin what she always doin.”
I asked, “Apollo, why did you tell her you’re the point guard? You’re not the point guard, Darnell is.” Darnell is a big, mean strong kid from two units down.
Apollo said, “I SHOULD be point guard. They say the best player always get to be point guard and I’m the best player.”
I can say with some confidence that Apollo is not the best player. Darnell is the best player.
I said, “Well, you just play the position the coach tells you to play. We gotta go anyway. Get your gear and let’s go.”
We hopped in the van and I drove across campus to the gymnasium. Practice had just begun and Marcus and Apollo joined the rest of the team who were doing their usual warm up drills. The team’s head coach is Ricky Kinglsey, the Recreation Director of the organization and the two assistant coaches were staff from two other houses. Sitting on the bleachers behind the team bench were a group of staff who had brought their kids down. Practice is usually about 2 hours long and most staff will drop off the kids and come back to get them when practice is over. But we liked to linger a little while to watch the kids and engage in some campus gossip. I took a seat near Guru, who was wearing dark sunglasses and a hoodie sweatshirt under his buttoned up denim jacket, and Toby, who was doing a sub shift for another unit.
I said to Toby, “Hey man, you can’t be down here, who’s gonna clean up the house while the kids are acting out?”
He said, “Lemme tell you something.” He was using his authoritative, lecturing voice. “You might think it’s funny but they don’t know what they’re doing down there. I’ve done 9 loads of laundry already. If it wasn’t for me subbing down there, these kids would all be running around with stinky-ass clothes. I bet YOUR lazy ass hasn’t even done one load.
“Yeah, Tob,” I said, “you got me there. But let me know if you need any extra latex gloves. You’re probably single-handedly depleting the house’s reserve.”
Toby winced, “You think I’m gonna touch those foul-ass clothes with my bare hands? Hell no!”
The boys had started a scrimmage and were running different plays. Each time the ball was passed to the center, Randall, the tallest kid, he would immediately spin and heave the ball to the basket or backboard, miss, get the rebound and heave it again. He would shoot and get his own rebound 5 or 6 times before he either made the shot or someone else got the rebound. It was a wild display.
I turned to Guru, “Man, how can you stand the heat in those clothes? It’s stifling in here.”
He slowly turned his head to me, pulled down his glasses and glared. Then he slowly turned back to the scrimmage where Randall, once again was heaving and rebounding.
Guru said to no one in particular, “Right now I’ve got a problem with the coaching staff…”
He suddenly slammed down his hand on the bleachers, turned to me and yelled, “Never play a psychotic at center!”
Ricky Kingsley heard this, blew his whistle and called all the boys over to re-group. They convened by the bleachers and drank some water while Ricky talked about tomorrows game. I was more interested in the conversation that started up between Apollo and Darnell.
Apollo said to Darnell in his annoying drone, “Don’t you think I should be point guard?”
Darnell attempted to brush him off, “Oh please. Get outta my face.”
The whine continued, “I want be point guard. You gon’ see, I’m better.”
“Get the hell away from me ‘fo’ I beat yo ass.”
“What if I aks coach?”
“I’ll beat yo ass.”
“I mo aks him.”
“I’ll beat yo ass."
“What if I’m better than you and I give you a shimmy and shake and then I get the ball? Then I’ll be point guard.”
“You do that, I’ll beat yo ass. Apollo. You ain’t better. There’s only one point guard and that’s me. From now until forever. Get outta my face ‘fo’ I beat you ass.”
That was the end of the conversation. The boys resumed practice, with Darnell at point guard, and the rest of us staff slowly went back to the vans and up to our houses.
I walked in and JD immediately ran up to me, “Stokie!” He was attempting to give me a hug and I could feel is dank, clammy hands rubbing on my arms.
I pushed him away, “Damn JD! You think I want your nasty, unwashed hands all over me? Come on, man, boundaries! That’s nasty!”
Ross looked up from the game of paper football he was playing with a couple kids and laughed, “Hey Stokie, you need one?” He held up his pack of smokes.
I said, “I see you took your medicine. Now that’s the Ross I know!”
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Better and Better Every Day
"You want a piece of me!?! You want a fuckin' piece of me!?!"
JD was screaming his lungs out at his basketball teammate and Special Counselor, me. We were participating in a house game of basketball for our hourly House Rec (or as I refer to it: House Wreck). JD is the chunky "feral child" who looks like Pumba from the Lion King. He had squared up in front of me and had his fists up to fight.
"I ain't goin' nowhere, partnah! You wanna piece of me, you come and get it, niggah! I'll beat yo ass!" JD comes from the white-trash foothills but he took on a ghetto accent whenever he got violent, something he picked up since he got here. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard, each exhale blowing his lips out so you could see his underbitten teeth.
"You know, JD, we've talked about this. In fact, we talk about it every day. When you threaten your peers, your program is to go directly to the house, no..."
"I know, 'no ips, ans or buts!' But he didn't pass me the ball - ever - and I told him I'd kick his ass if he didn't pass me the ball AND HE FUCKIN DIDN'T! So I ain't goin nowhere, I'm playing basketball and plus, I'll beat yo ass if you make me. SO GIMME THE FUCKIN BALL!"
I said, "JD, you will be going to the house, your house rec is over. You're not mad at me, you know the rules, you're disappointed in yourself for losing it again. That's ok, we'll try again tomorrow. If you don't walk up on your own, we'll escort you, just like we always do. Your decision."
Chris, the non-passer, was sitting on the sidelines doing his timeout and said, "Yeah, JD, a day without you getting proned is like a day without sunshine, so just serve it."
This was JD's opportunity to lose it. "What the fuck? That's it, you're going down mutha-fucka! I get crazy!"
As JD stomped over toward the sideline, Chris just sat there with an intentionally bored look on his face, his chin resting on his fist. JD was screeching and lathering obscenities and was walking just slow enough so that Toby and I could tackle him just before he got to Chris. Toby and I placed JD in a prone containment on the hot asphalt, and I turned to my other teammates, Mel and Gus.
"Me and Toby'll take him up to the house. You guys have a good game." Chris looked at the hysterical JD, grinned and waved a dainty goodbye.
JD's getting better. In a calmer moment weeks ago, he and I worked out a strict behavior contract which send him straight to the house as soon as he gets out of line, 'no ifs, ands or buts.' He loves to say that with me. There was a time when he would have hurt someone, gotten into a fight or run away in these instances, and occasionally he still does, but not as often. He was slimming down a bit due to the extra exercise and learning to trust adults, little by little.
"Mutha-fuckas, let's fight! I'll beat the shit out of you. You ain't my Special Counselor no more, niggah! You're just a fat bitch. You like to get drunk and fag off with kids." His arms were slippery with sweat.
"JD, me and Toby are going to pick you up and take you to the Quiet Room. While we do that, you can think about who you're really talking about."
The trip back up the hill, through the weeds and to the house was really difficult. Since JD was fighting, trying to spit and bite, it was easier to drag him up the hill backwards.
Toby said, "You know how the cops do it? They straighten out the arm behind the perpetrator, push it into the shoulder and bend the wrist, like this." He demonstrated the maneuver on JD.
JD screamed, "Okay! I'll walk! I'll walk!" Toby then moved JD's arm back to the original position, and immediately, JD started to fight again.
"Of course, we can't do that," said Toby. "It would make things too easy."
We eventually dragged JD to the house and into the Quiet Room. We pushed him in there and slammed the door. He was livid.
"Bitches better not open the door either cuz I'll beat both your asses!"
"Okay," I said, yelling through the plexiglass window. "Good idea. We'll just leave you there. Bye."
"Open the fuckin door! Godammit! You think I'm messing around? I'll show you!" He grabbed his Shaq O'Neil jersey with two hands and ripped it down the middle. "See? I hate you, bitch!"
I said, "Aw, JD, that was your special Shaq jersey that we got from Ross. Remember how we had such a good time that day?"
"Think I care? WELL I DON'T!" He took the shreds of his jersey and tied it tightly around his head. "Now I'm gonna cut off that thing... That thing that goes in your head that you can die from...You know, what's that thing called?"
I said helpfully, "You mean you're going to cut off your circulation. Say it, 'cir-cu-la-tion,' so that you can die. That's called 'com-mit-ing-su-i-cide.' And that way I'll get fired because it'll be my fault because I hate kids and like to get drunk and abuse them. But you won't be around to see it because you'll be dead, but it'll be worth it because I'll be homeless. That's what you meant to say, right? Fine with me, I need the vacation."
JD pulled off one of his shoes. He slammed it against the window over and over. Every time he slammed it, I'd tap against the window to make a little rhythm.
BOOM taptap, BOOM tap, BOOM taptap, BOOM tap.
He stopped slamming and said, "Oh, you think it's time for fun and games? TAKE THIS!" He walked up to the window and started ramming his head against it. Each time he he hit it, I'd say in a falsetto, "Boopboop."
BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop, BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop.
"Hey JD, I like this rhythm better."
"I'm gonna pee in here!"
"It's gonna stink in there!"
He took his shoe again. "See this? This is you!" He started pulling open the top of his shoe, attempting to rip it apart.
"JD, those are your Jordans. Remember how long you worked to earn those? Remember how proud of yourself you were when we went to Ross and got them? I'm proud of you too, you know."
"Don't care," he said between gasps. "Gonna tear 'em apart. You're not proud of me, you think I suck. I can tell. I'm the worst piece of shit you've ever seen." He continued stretching out the shoe and I could tell it wouldn't be long until it was in shreds.
"JD, I'm not going to let you tear up your special Jordans."
"I don't want them!"
"I'm coming in there and I'm going to take your shoes so you can't tear them up."
"That's what I want. So I can beat your ass! You want to hurt me anyway, why don't you come and do it? I'm a retard! And I SUCK!" He tore at his Jordans with renewed vigor.
"Why do you keep saying that? Do you realize how much better you've gotten since you've been here? You're way better. You're getting slimmer, you don't fight as much, you're learning about getting along with people. You think you're the worst I've ever seen but you're not. Not even close. So stop talking to me like I'm your dad. I'm not your dad, I'm your friend. I'll never treat you like your dad treated you."
"Talking about my dad? My dad'll kick your ass! I'M GONNA KILL YOU MUTHA-FUCKA!
I opened the door which surprised JD and he took a step back in fright. He quickly composed himself, raised his Jordan and gritted his teeth. "You're going down, bitch! I'm gonna kill your ass!"
I put my hands down by my sides, and walked slowly toward him.
"I'm not gonna fight you. I'm just not."
He swung the shoe. I didn't flinch. He didn't hit me. He stood there for a moment, looking at me. Then he burst into tears.
"Oooh, I'm sorry. I wish you were my dad. Why can't you be my dad?" He hugged me and sobbed. "Why can't you just adopt me? I'd act good at your house, I promise. Ohh, hooo. Nobody likes me, but you do."
"It's gonna be ok, JD. Better and better every day. It's gonna be ok."
"I don't really hate you, Stokie."
"I know. It's ok."
"I was just mad."
"I know, JD. Better and better every day. I'm proud of you."
"I'm proud of you, too, Stokie. Can I try again tomorrow?"
JD was screaming his lungs out at his basketball teammate and Special Counselor, me. We were participating in a house game of basketball for our hourly House Rec (or as I refer to it: House Wreck). JD is the chunky "feral child" who looks like Pumba from the Lion King. He had squared up in front of me and had his fists up to fight.
"I ain't goin' nowhere, partnah! You wanna piece of me, you come and get it, niggah! I'll beat yo ass!" JD comes from the white-trash foothills but he took on a ghetto accent whenever he got violent, something he picked up since he got here. His eyes were wide and he was breathing hard, each exhale blowing his lips out so you could see his underbitten teeth.
"You know, JD, we've talked about this. In fact, we talk about it every day. When you threaten your peers, your program is to go directly to the house, no..."
"I know, 'no ips, ans or buts!' But he didn't pass me the ball - ever - and I told him I'd kick his ass if he didn't pass me the ball AND HE FUCKIN DIDN'T! So I ain't goin nowhere, I'm playing basketball and plus, I'll beat yo ass if you make me. SO GIMME THE FUCKIN BALL!"
I said, "JD, you will be going to the house, your house rec is over. You're not mad at me, you know the rules, you're disappointed in yourself for losing it again. That's ok, we'll try again tomorrow. If you don't walk up on your own, we'll escort you, just like we always do. Your decision."
Chris, the non-passer, was sitting on the sidelines doing his timeout and said, "Yeah, JD, a day without you getting proned is like a day without sunshine, so just serve it."
This was JD's opportunity to lose it. "What the fuck? That's it, you're going down mutha-fucka! I get crazy!"
As JD stomped over toward the sideline, Chris just sat there with an intentionally bored look on his face, his chin resting on his fist. JD was screeching and lathering obscenities and was walking just slow enough so that Toby and I could tackle him just before he got to Chris. Toby and I placed JD in a prone containment on the hot asphalt, and I turned to my other teammates, Mel and Gus.
"Me and Toby'll take him up to the house. You guys have a good game." Chris looked at the hysterical JD, grinned and waved a dainty goodbye.
JD's getting better. In a calmer moment weeks ago, he and I worked out a strict behavior contract which send him straight to the house as soon as he gets out of line, 'no ifs, ands or buts.' He loves to say that with me. There was a time when he would have hurt someone, gotten into a fight or run away in these instances, and occasionally he still does, but not as often. He was slimming down a bit due to the extra exercise and learning to trust adults, little by little.
"Mutha-fuckas, let's fight! I'll beat the shit out of you. You ain't my Special Counselor no more, niggah! You're just a fat bitch. You like to get drunk and fag off with kids." His arms were slippery with sweat.
"JD, me and Toby are going to pick you up and take you to the Quiet Room. While we do that, you can think about who you're really talking about."
The trip back up the hill, through the weeds and to the house was really difficult. Since JD was fighting, trying to spit and bite, it was easier to drag him up the hill backwards.
Toby said, "You know how the cops do it? They straighten out the arm behind the perpetrator, push it into the shoulder and bend the wrist, like this." He demonstrated the maneuver on JD.
JD screamed, "Okay! I'll walk! I'll walk!" Toby then moved JD's arm back to the original position, and immediately, JD started to fight again.
"Of course, we can't do that," said Toby. "It would make things too easy."
We eventually dragged JD to the house and into the Quiet Room. We pushed him in there and slammed the door. He was livid.
"Bitches better not open the door either cuz I'll beat both your asses!"
"Okay," I said, yelling through the plexiglass window. "Good idea. We'll just leave you there. Bye."
"Open the fuckin door! Godammit! You think I'm messing around? I'll show you!" He grabbed his Shaq O'Neil jersey with two hands and ripped it down the middle. "See? I hate you, bitch!"
I said, "Aw, JD, that was your special Shaq jersey that we got from Ross. Remember how we had such a good time that day?"
"Think I care? WELL I DON'T!" He took the shreds of his jersey and tied it tightly around his head. "Now I'm gonna cut off that thing... That thing that goes in your head that you can die from...You know, what's that thing called?"
I said helpfully, "You mean you're going to cut off your circulation. Say it, 'cir-cu-la-tion,' so that you can die. That's called 'com-mit-ing-su-i-cide.' And that way I'll get fired because it'll be my fault because I hate kids and like to get drunk and abuse them. But you won't be around to see it because you'll be dead, but it'll be worth it because I'll be homeless. That's what you meant to say, right? Fine with me, I need the vacation."
JD pulled off one of his shoes. He slammed it against the window over and over. Every time he slammed it, I'd tap against the window to make a little rhythm.
BOOM taptap, BOOM tap, BOOM taptap, BOOM tap.
He stopped slamming and said, "Oh, you think it's time for fun and games? TAKE THIS!" He walked up to the window and started ramming his head against it. Each time he he hit it, I'd say in a falsetto, "Boopboop."
BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop, BLAM boopboop, BLAM boop.
"Hey JD, I like this rhythm better."
"I'm gonna pee in here!"
"It's gonna stink in there!"
He took his shoe again. "See this? This is you!" He started pulling open the top of his shoe, attempting to rip it apart.
"JD, those are your Jordans. Remember how long you worked to earn those? Remember how proud of yourself you were when we went to Ross and got them? I'm proud of you too, you know."
"Don't care," he said between gasps. "Gonna tear 'em apart. You're not proud of me, you think I suck. I can tell. I'm the worst piece of shit you've ever seen." He continued stretching out the shoe and I could tell it wouldn't be long until it was in shreds.
"JD, I'm not going to let you tear up your special Jordans."
"I don't want them!"
"I'm coming in there and I'm going to take your shoes so you can't tear them up."
"That's what I want. So I can beat your ass! You want to hurt me anyway, why don't you come and do it? I'm a retard! And I SUCK!" He tore at his Jordans with renewed vigor.
"Why do you keep saying that? Do you realize how much better you've gotten since you've been here? You're way better. You're getting slimmer, you don't fight as much, you're learning about getting along with people. You think you're the worst I've ever seen but you're not. Not even close. So stop talking to me like I'm your dad. I'm not your dad, I'm your friend. I'll never treat you like your dad treated you."
"Talking about my dad? My dad'll kick your ass! I'M GONNA KILL YOU MUTHA-FUCKA!
I opened the door which surprised JD and he took a step back in fright. He quickly composed himself, raised his Jordan and gritted his teeth. "You're going down, bitch! I'm gonna kill your ass!"
I put my hands down by my sides, and walked slowly toward him.
"I'm not gonna fight you. I'm just not."
He swung the shoe. I didn't flinch. He didn't hit me. He stood there for a moment, looking at me. Then he burst into tears.
"Oooh, I'm sorry. I wish you were my dad. Why can't you be my dad?" He hugged me and sobbed. "Why can't you just adopt me? I'd act good at your house, I promise. Ohh, hooo. Nobody likes me, but you do."
"It's gonna be ok, JD. Better and better every day. It's gonna be ok."
"I don't really hate you, Stokie."
"I know. It's ok."
"I was just mad."
"I know, JD. Better and better every day. I'm proud of you."
"I'm proud of you, too, Stokie. Can I try again tomorrow?"
Masters, Part 4
I stepped into Yolanda's office in front of Miyako and Pete Post, who shut the door behind him. Yolanda was already sitting down.
Pete began, "Stokie, you know that as a veteran staff, the organization values your investment and experience here..."
I said, "That line is always followed by 'however...'"
"However, from time to time even the veteran staff show signs of stress and make mistakes in their handlings of the kids here. And I'm here to talk to you about this morning and determine if there were any mistakes made and talk to you about whether or not you're feeling any stress on the job."
"Well, Pete, I appreciate your concern for my welfare. I don't remember anything about this morning and I'd have to read Miyako's incident report to remind myself. May I see it please?"
"Actually, she hasn't completed it yet. She came to me with it and asked for help with the English. When I helped her write it, she described the incident to me and I became concerned about your handling of the client."
"So there's no incident report? I better get to work on it right away. Miyako, why didn't you just come to me for help on the IR? Why did you go to Pete? After all, I was the one who was there, not Pete."
Pete squirmed in his chair. "I don't think that's the point here..."
Yolanda piped up, "Yeah Miyako. I know I told you when I met you yesterday that you should be checking in with your teammates all the time, especially if you're confused or have questions. Why didn't you do that?"
Miyako's eyes started welling up. "Pete told me that he wanted to know what was going on in the house. He say 'Tell me if anybody, especially veteran staff like Stokie Jaye do anything might be wrong.' So I tell him and he say Stokie might get fired."
I could have murdered Pete Post right then and there. "So Pete, what I'm hearing is that you're hiring new staff to be your spies so that you can try to fire veteran staff like me. Do you have any idea how fucked-up that is? You Admins keep talking about supporting us and then you go and do something like this? You all are just talking out of your assholes."
Pete responded, "I assure you, cursing at me is not going to help you explain any possible illegal behavior."
"Oh yeah. Miyako, can you remind me what illegal behavior I engaged in?"
Miyako was silent for a moment. Then she burst into tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! Not sure, not sure."
Pete said, "Miyako, you told me that Stokie picked up Brian by himself and threw him into the Quiet Room. Isn't that what you saw?"
Miyako said through sobs, "Not sure, not sure."
Yolanda said, "Sounds like she's not sure, Pete. And Stokie? Do you remember what happened now?"
"Yes, Yolanda. As I walked toward Brian, he did a backward sommersault into the Quiet Room. I just shut the door because he was being assaultive to Miyako by spitting on her. She just sat there and took it, too." I turned to Pete, "I wonder where she learned that?"
Miyako got up and ran out. This was the last time any of us saw her as she faxed in her letter of resignation the next day.
Yolanda said, "Pete, I think it's time for you to get out of my office, you aren't making any friends right now."
Pete got up to leave and said to me, "There's too much hands on going on in this house. And another thing, you better think twice before you lie to me again." With that he left the house.
I got up to leave too. I said to Yolanda, "You need to do your own dirty work. I got Admin stink all over me and almost lost my job for it."
Pete began, "Stokie, you know that as a veteran staff, the organization values your investment and experience here..."
I said, "That line is always followed by 'however...'"
"However, from time to time even the veteran staff show signs of stress and make mistakes in their handlings of the kids here. And I'm here to talk to you about this morning and determine if there were any mistakes made and talk to you about whether or not you're feeling any stress on the job."
"Well, Pete, I appreciate your concern for my welfare. I don't remember anything about this morning and I'd have to read Miyako's incident report to remind myself. May I see it please?"
"Actually, she hasn't completed it yet. She came to me with it and asked for help with the English. When I helped her write it, she described the incident to me and I became concerned about your handling of the client."
"So there's no incident report? I better get to work on it right away. Miyako, why didn't you just come to me for help on the IR? Why did you go to Pete? After all, I was the one who was there, not Pete."
Pete squirmed in his chair. "I don't think that's the point here..."
Yolanda piped up, "Yeah Miyako. I know I told you when I met you yesterday that you should be checking in with your teammates all the time, especially if you're confused or have questions. Why didn't you do that?"
Miyako's eyes started welling up. "Pete told me that he wanted to know what was going on in the house. He say 'Tell me if anybody, especially veteran staff like Stokie Jaye do anything might be wrong.' So I tell him and he say Stokie might get fired."
I could have murdered Pete Post right then and there. "So Pete, what I'm hearing is that you're hiring new staff to be your spies so that you can try to fire veteran staff like me. Do you have any idea how fucked-up that is? You Admins keep talking about supporting us and then you go and do something like this? You all are just talking out of your assholes."
Pete responded, "I assure you, cursing at me is not going to help you explain any possible illegal behavior."
"Oh yeah. Miyako, can you remind me what illegal behavior I engaged in?"
Miyako was silent for a moment. Then she burst into tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! Not sure, not sure."
Pete said, "Miyako, you told me that Stokie picked up Brian by himself and threw him into the Quiet Room. Isn't that what you saw?"
Miyako said through sobs, "Not sure, not sure."
Yolanda said, "Sounds like she's not sure, Pete. And Stokie? Do you remember what happened now?"
"Yes, Yolanda. As I walked toward Brian, he did a backward sommersault into the Quiet Room. I just shut the door because he was being assaultive to Miyako by spitting on her. She just sat there and took it, too." I turned to Pete, "I wonder where she learned that?"
Miyako got up and ran out. This was the last time any of us saw her as she faxed in her letter of resignation the next day.
Yolanda said, "Pete, I think it's time for you to get out of my office, you aren't making any friends right now."
Pete got up to leave and said to me, "There's too much hands on going on in this house. And another thing, you better think twice before you lie to me again." With that he left the house.
I got up to leave too. I said to Yolanda, "You need to do your own dirty work. I got Admin stink all over me and almost lost my job for it."
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