Life at "The House"

Policing the sandbox!

It's a little like being the hallway monitor in school -- only with adults, some of them physically imposing, who behave like children. After putting in my third 24-hour shift at the social reintegration house, I can now provide a sort of preliminary portrait. And a reason why it's so draining.

There are currently three women in the house, ranging from age 21 to early 30s to early 60s, and over 20 men of varying ages. The younger ones grappled with alcohol and drugs from an early age, so I can't help feeling as though they have the harder row to hoe. Indeed, one of the men confided yesterday that alcohol wasn't even his primary problem; it was gambling first and cocaine closely tied to it (the impulse to do either one would lead to the other inevitably). Still, the AA program is the one used in the house, since the 12 steps can be applied to any addiction.

Since yesterday is fresh in my mind... here goes a sampling...

On Friday night I had the first complaint about a cold bedroom. The guy stood by the closed/locked office door and demanded to be let in (I was sitting in the dining room a few feet away) to check the thermostat. He said this in a proprietary tone, when in fact residents aren't permitted to do anything of the kind. But this is the sort of attitude they have taken with me (the men, in particular) because after all, I'm the newbie and let's see what liberties we can get away with.

Well, he walked away grumbling when I told him the thermostat had not been set lower and no, I wasn't letting him in to look at it. The next morning was worse. Big Guy #1 (whom I call The Preacher) started my day by informing me that his baseboard heater wasn't working, that he froze all night and couldn't sleep, and that he came down to the kitchen (where he works many hours a week) to start making soup and stay warm.

So I told him I would report to the owner and/or his son, who can take appropriate measures. This wasn't sufficient, and in his usual fashion of saying everything multiple times, he proceeded to repeat the same plaint word for word not only to me but to anyone who cared to listen. Then the third guy walked in right in the middle of it all and launched into an argument about the lack of heat in his room. He was sarcastic and I'd pretty much had it at that point, so I told him to go away and the Preacher to stop complaining, and stomped outside to finish my coffee in peace and to try to sift the chaff from the truth.

Two out of three guys came to "sort-of" apologize later.

You need to separate a genuine complaint or concern from a character disorder, a bad habit or a momentary tantrum.

See, the rooms which get sun during the day stay warmer at night, and if they're also over the furnace-side of the building, bonus. The others, unfortunately, don't have it so good. And yet most of the heaters work full blast, even to the point where plenty of residents keep their windows open a crack at night.

This is an ongoing complaint, but they now have someone new to try it on because they know the other staff won't stand for it anymore. The Preacher also does a daily 10-minute soapbox routine in which he proclaims his non-belief in human beings and his reliance on The Baby Jesus. It's hard to take it seriously even on first hearing, because it's so rote and patently empty as to be meaningless. Still, you nod and smile and tap him on the back and say "way to go." Because it's really just a cassette he's playing and no debate or response is required.

Another will come up periodically -- to me, or anyone else who happens to be around -- and ask a question point-blank about the program, but I've learned that he, too, is just looking for the chance to run his cassette. It isn't a discussion; it's a display of knowledge, it's just quoting chapter and verse. Yet another has spent a lot of time describing his ideal girlfriend; I have to watch him, because he strays often into territory that verges on pornographic.

In general, I have to be attuned to little bits of harmful dialogue that masquerade as banter (which is part of the process of helping people in recovery to change the way they think; very important). A couple of guys were talking about what they'd do if they won the lottery, and one launched into a daydream about renting a luxury suite at the casino, lining up the chips at the best table, and wagering a million then and there. I had to remind him that this was inappropriate conversation. One girl quipped, "With friends like mine, you'd resort to mind-altering substances, too!" and the answer to that is not a sympathetic laugh but rather a gentle, "That only means you need to change your friends." Or the guy who thinks the snorer in the next room is deliberately baiting him, when the truth is, he feels the entire world is engaged in a conspiracy to make him miserable. Or simply telling the youngest one that she shouldn't be wandering about in her pjs and housecoat at 10:00 a.m.

It's a continuous and rapid-fire process of listening, choosing to respond or not, deciding how to formulate a response, correcting if need be, deciding on tone of voice... well, it's a lot like parenting! Or being a substitute teacher!

I got home at about 4 PM yesterday and was asleep by 7:30.