September 20, 2011
1. Newblog2011: 09/20/11 Rosie's Place in Boston, MA
This is something I wrote weeks and weeks ago, and am only now getting a chance to put it on the Internet.
I’m going to write it the way I wrote it then, as if it had just happened, and then I’ll write a note in the present time at the end. Some of it also describes less-than-perfect behavior from me, or, at least, less-than-effective behavior in the situation.
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A few nights ago, I went to a shelter called Rosie’s Place for dinner. I tried once to get a bed there, but, when I showed up for the lottery, the first thing they said was “There are no beds here.”
The first day that I walked in there, a few weeks ago, there was a large Wet Floor sign next to the front desk. There has also been a Wet Floor sign permanently on display in the restroom.
When I went there a few nights ago, I sat at a table where there was one other homeless woman. Rosie’s Place only provides services to women, not to men. The women sit at the tables and the volunteers and staff go out into the dining/community room with plates and set them on the tables.
I had put some of my things at my table and then walked away for a minute. When I got back, the other woman at the table had just been given her plate of food. There were 2 volunteers standing by the table. One was a man who was probably in his 60’s. The other was a young woman. The young woman held a large tray that had plates of food on it.
Both volunteers were still close to and facing my table, because they’d just served the other woman. The man saw me and turned away. He started taking plates off the female volunteer’s tray and putting them in front of the women at the next table over.
I said “I’m right here—you forgot to give me my food.”
The man ignored me and continued to hand out plates to the other women. I repeated “You forgot to give me my food.” He looked back over his shoulder and said “You weren’t at your table, so you’ll have to wait,” and continued to serve the other women.
I said “You just served the other woman at my table; I walked right up to the table while you were still standing here. You saw me and started serving other people.”
He ignored me.
By then, there was one plate left on the tray that the female volunteer was holding. I went over to her to take the plate from the tray. She tried to keep it out of my way. I said “Give me that,” and she continued to try to keep me from taking it.
I got the plate and sat at my table with it.
The man walked over to me, put both of his hands on the table, loomed over me and said “If I report you, you won’t be able to come back.”
I took my napkin off my lap, put it next to my plate, and got up. I walked over to the kitchen and asked the first person I saw, a middle-aged woman, if she was in charge. She said “Yes.” I told her what had happened.
At first, she seemed reasonable and understanding, especially when I said “It’s not as if homeless people get a lot of respect anyway. At the end of the day, I don’t have any patience left.”
She said “I understand.”
I said “I appreciate that,” and she walked away.
A few minutes later, she walked back over to me and said that she wanted to talk to me. She asked me to go into the office with her.
The first thing that I saw when I walked into the office was a Wet Floor sign propped up against the bookcase immediately to the left of the door.
I said “There’s no wet floor her.”
She smiled and said “That was outside the door of this office earlier,” which of course was a malicious lie if she meant to say that there had been wet floor outside the office and that she’d moved the sign into her office when the floor had dried. Before the horrifying attack on women’s rights began more than a year and a half ago, people didn’t keep wet floor signs in their offices. There are a lot of things that happened over the past year and a half that have never happened before, all of them bad.
She asked me to sit down, and then she started Phase 2 of the harassment, which involves telling me that I’m the one who’s being abusive to staff instead of the truth, which is that I get abused and the abusers don’t like my objections.
I’d heard that speech already, from other people, in other places, since the nightmare began, and I didn’t sit through it this time. I said “I’m not going to sit here for this,” and got up and walked out of the office.
She followed me out of the office, and I heard one of the homeless women say “Here it comes” before the manager told me that I was barred for the night from Rosie’s Place.
A few homeless women laughed. I got my things from the table where I’d been sitting. Then I went up to the man who’d tried to keep my food from me and who had most likely lodged a counter-complaint to my complaint about his abuse to the woman who’d ended up barring me for the night. I said to him “Don’t you ever get in my face like that again.”
I went out to the front desk and asked the woman who was sitting there if she were the supervisor of the woman in the kitchen, who had followed me out to the front desk, too. The woman at the front desk said “No, she’s my supervisor.” Futilely, I told her what had happened as the woman from the kitchen stood there and listened.
Then I said “I don’t understand how women can participate in this.” I pointed in the direction of each Wet Floor sign as I said “There’s no wet floor sign there—or there—or there, and that guy is a beast!”
I left as the woman behind the desk trilled out “Byyyyyyyyye.” I couldn’t quite stop myself from kicking the door as I left.
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September 20, 2011
Here’s a note about that essay.
When the events that I’ve described occurred, I wasn’t thinking about code or about anything else except how angry I was that I had first been abused and that I’d then been lied to and abused more for having objected to the way I’d been treated.
I’ll say this now, though; I don’t want to be associated with anyone who supports any of the issues that I’ve said that I’m against. I am against those issues.
Copyright L. Kochman, September 20, 2011 @ 6:17 p.m.
1. Newblog2011: 09/20/11 Rosie's Place in Boston, MA
This is something I wrote weeks and weeks ago, and am only now getting a chance to put it on the Internet.
I’m going to write it the way I wrote it then, as if it had just happened, and then I’ll write a note in the present time at the end. Some of it also describes less-than-perfect behavior from me, or, at least, less-than-effective behavior in the situation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few nights ago, I went to a shelter called Rosie’s Place for dinner. I tried once to get a bed there, but, when I showed up for the lottery, the first thing they said was “There are no beds here.”
The first day that I walked in there, a few weeks ago, there was a large Wet Floor sign next to the front desk. There has also been a Wet Floor sign permanently on display in the restroom.
When I went there a few nights ago, I sat at a table where there was one other homeless woman. Rosie’s Place only provides services to women, not to men. The women sit at the tables and the volunteers and staff go out into the dining/community room with plates and set them on the tables.
I had put some of my things at my table and then walked away for a minute. When I got back, the other woman at the table had just been given her plate of food. There were 2 volunteers standing by the table. One was a man who was probably in his 60’s. The other was a young woman. The young woman held a large tray that had plates of food on it.
Both volunteers were still close to and facing my table, because they’d just served the other woman. The man saw me and turned away. He started taking plates off the female volunteer’s tray and putting them in front of the women at the next table over.
I said “I’m right here—you forgot to give me my food.”
The man ignored me and continued to hand out plates to the other women. I repeated “You forgot to give me my food.” He looked back over his shoulder and said “You weren’t at your table, so you’ll have to wait,” and continued to serve the other women.
I said “You just served the other woman at my table; I walked right up to the table while you were still standing here. You saw me and started serving other people.”
He ignored me.
By then, there was one plate left on the tray that the female volunteer was holding. I went over to her to take the plate from the tray. She tried to keep it out of my way. I said “Give me that,” and she continued to try to keep me from taking it.
I got the plate and sat at my table with it.
The man walked over to me, put both of his hands on the table, loomed over me and said “If I report you, you won’t be able to come back.”
I took my napkin off my lap, put it next to my plate, and got up. I walked over to the kitchen and asked the first person I saw, a middle-aged woman, if she was in charge. She said “Yes.” I told her what had happened.
At first, she seemed reasonable and understanding, especially when I said “It’s not as if homeless people get a lot of respect anyway. At the end of the day, I don’t have any patience left.”
She said “I understand.”
I said “I appreciate that,” and she walked away.
A few minutes later, she walked back over to me and said that she wanted to talk to me. She asked me to go into the office with her.
The first thing that I saw when I walked into the office was a Wet Floor sign propped up against the bookcase immediately to the left of the door.
I said “There’s no wet floor her.”
She smiled and said “That was outside the door of this office earlier,” which of course was a malicious lie if she meant to say that there had been wet floor outside the office and that she’d moved the sign into her office when the floor had dried. Before the horrifying attack on women’s rights began more than a year and a half ago, people didn’t keep wet floor signs in their offices. There are a lot of things that happened over the past year and a half that have never happened before, all of them bad.
She asked me to sit down, and then she started Phase 2 of the harassment, which involves telling me that I’m the one who’s being abusive to staff instead of the truth, which is that I get abused and the abusers don’t like my objections.
I’d heard that speech already, from other people, in other places, since the nightmare began, and I didn’t sit through it this time. I said “I’m not going to sit here for this,” and got up and walked out of the office.
She followed me out of the office, and I heard one of the homeless women say “Here it comes” before the manager told me that I was barred for the night from Rosie’s Place.
A few homeless women laughed. I got my things from the table where I’d been sitting. Then I went up to the man who’d tried to keep my food from me and who had most likely lodged a counter-complaint to my complaint about his abuse to the woman who’d ended up barring me for the night. I said to him “Don’t you ever get in my face like that again.”
I went out to the front desk and asked the woman who was sitting there if she were the supervisor of the woman in the kitchen, who had followed me out to the front desk, too. The woman at the front desk said “No, she’s my supervisor.” Futilely, I told her what had happened as the woman from the kitchen stood there and listened.
Then I said “I don’t understand how women can participate in this.” I pointed in the direction of each Wet Floor sign as I said “There’s no wet floor sign there—or there—or there, and that guy is a beast!”
I left as the woman behind the desk trilled out “Byyyyyyyyye.” I couldn’t quite stop myself from kicking the door as I left.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
September 20, 2011
Here’s a note about that essay.
When the events that I’ve described occurred, I wasn’t thinking about code or about anything else except how angry I was that I had first been abused and that I’d then been lied to and abused more for having objected to the way I’d been treated.
I’ll say this now, though; I don’t want to be associated with anyone who supports any of the issues that I’ve said that I’m against. I am against those issues.
Copyright L. Kochman, September 20, 2011 @ 6:17 p.m.