(Day 8 in car)
Shari and Paul loaned me a handheld propane bottle with a contraption that goes on top to hold a pot. (Turns out they didn’t match, but I didn’t know that yet.) So I wanted to get a pot and a skillet. I figured I could at least heat soup, boil eggs, maybe even fry eggs. If the wind wasn’t too high as it often is, or if I found a windscreen.
I drove to the nearest Salvation Army. I remembered what street it was on, so when I saw the SA sign I pulled in. As I walked in I realized this wasn’t the thrift shop. It must be where they provide services. Three or four people in bedraggled clothing and unkempt hair walked out of a room smiling and holding full plastic shopping bags.
A woman following behind them asked me, “Are you here to make a donation?”
“Uh, no. I’m looking for the thrift shop.” And maybe ask about showers? Food?
“It’s another block down the street. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” I cast a moving glance at the bulletin board by the door, looking for information on their services. “YES WE ARE A CHURCH” was the only poster that caught my eye.
Outside again, a man standing by the door said, “Have a good day, m’am.”
Does he call women whom he knows are homeless “m’am?”