Homelessness Part IV - The "Downtown Rescue Mission" (HSV, AL)

The sign out in front of the Downtown Rescue Mission in Huntsville, AL reads, simply, this:

"Where We Have A Heart For The Homeless."

Riiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Upon my arrival here, I wrote up a tasty article about homeless missions in general, just one article down, inspired by my stay at this mission.  Now, it's inspired me to write just one more.  Not unlike the Gospel Mission in Sioux Falls, SD, this one has now incurred my wrath as well, but not due to the actions of just one person there; no, this time, the entire mission managed to piss me off.  And, not unlike what I did to the other one, so shall I do...to this one too.  Kick me, I kick back...remember?

Upon my arrival at this mission, I was told that cell phones, nor laptops...nor, for that matter, anything with a camera was allowed here.  The reason for this would be quite apparent very quickly.  If I were to be in charge of a mission as disgusting as this, I wouldn't want people to have cameras either.  The floors (also the sleeping areas) were filthy, and I wouldn't ask my dog to lay on anything closely resembling them.  Your beds were worn out prison mats, the showers were open for other clients' viewing pleasure, and your entry into the place wasn't too far off of what you go through at the airport.  Your bags are torn apart daily (no bag bigger than a standard duffel bag is allowed in...if you have anything bigger than the half of a school locker that you can store things in, you are asked to throw it away), and a big metal detector ensures that nothing of metal is allowed past this point.  Cigarette rollers and loose tobacco are confiscated (usually WITHOUT your knowledge), and your pockets are to be emptied.  OK, I can deal with this (thank you PATRIOT ACT).

Enter in, the rub.  Should the staff at the front door miss anything, and you're caught with it later...you're the one at fault.  Again...whatever.  I'm a decent guy, I'm not going to bring any weapons or drugs in anyway, so no real sweat off of my skin...until yesterday, that is.

I had taken up with a gentleman named Troy, who was not only supposed to put me to work, but was also offering me a place to stay, and so yesterday (I thought) was SUPPOSED to be my last day at this horror of a mission.  Thank God for small favors, I say.  I cleaned out my locker, and handed in my lock to get my lock deposit back, bagged up my things, and headed off of the property.

After waiting what turned into 2 hours for Troy to pick me up for the move, then work, I started talking to another resident of the mission, who it happened had already had an experience with this Troy person...and, of course, it wasn't a good one, by any stretch.  He informed me that leaving to work and live under this man was not only a serious mistake (he was, I was told, a coke-head, and loved to cheat hapless homeless people out of their money), it would be a step down, and that I was better off staying right where I was, at the mission.  After thinking about it for another hour, I turned my happy behind around and went right back.  I talked to the Chaplain (Mike), and got my locker and lock back.  I moved all of my things back in, and took off to take care of other business.

Upon my return, I checked in, and went my way.  An hour or so later, a guy named Lowan (a program based man, with a mohawk and tattoos, evidently in charge of those running the security desk) told me that he wanted to speak to me.  I didn't hesitate, and went to find him.

With him was a woman, who was, evidently, someone who worked for the administration of the shelter on the shelter side.  Lowan informed me that, after I had left (when I left, I left my locker wide open, since there was no need to shut it), someone spotted a kitchen knife in the locker.  I told Lowan, flat out, that it did not belong to me, and knew of no such knife.  Following this, the woman in administration sidled up to inform me that, since there had been a knife in my locker, that I was to be put out of the shelter for 30 days.  Not 3.  Not 7.  30 days.

Now, I want you to think about this for a moment America...the locker was vacated, and I was no longer a resident for 3 whole hours.  There was no lock on the locker.  I had left the door of the locker gapingly open.  Anyone could have put this knife in the locker.  What's more, if it HAD been my knife...wouldn't I have taken it with me?  Why would I leave it behind?  Finally, there's a metal detector and a person at the door supposedly going all through my things when I bring in my things.  Shouldn't this be the person getting in trouble for not doing his job???  Why is it that I have to be one being put out in the rain, for bringing in a knife?  And there are cameras everywhere, can't we check those out?  Evidently, not.  "A Heart For The Homeless" indeed.  Oh, and since I got upset at these people and swore at them (as anyone would, naturally...what a sham!), Lowan decided he was going to beat my ass if I said another word to him.  Of course, being the NON-VIOLENT, NON-KNIFE CARRYING citizen I was, I turned and kept on truckin'.  I wanted nothing more to do with this place, that was certain.  How I managed to stay that long was miracle enough.  Where I am now is absolute Nirvana in comparison.

Yes, finally, and not unlike the Gospel Mission, in S.D., as well, we shall write this article...place it in the Feature Article position for an undetermined period, and send it to the churches in the area, as well as the local newspapers and elected offices of the city of Huntsville, AL.  Enjoy, you bastards.  May you rest in pieces.  :D