Homeless by Ms. Michel Moore

tasks at the paid staff’s leisure could remain on the premises.
    â€œYes, can I help you?” the woman asked, trying to sound as professional as possible.
    â€œYeah, I need to speak to the daytime supervisor. I’m supposed to be doing some volunteer work this week.”
    The woman held the mop handle in one hand while looking Lonnie up and down. Not used to seeing a young man dressed as nicely as he was in or around the shelter, she hated she was looking a hot mess. Ignoring the fact he was years her junior, the woman made sure to put an extra swing in her hips as she let him in and led him to the office. Upon getting to the door she tried touching him on the shoulder telling him good luck, but Lonnie wasn’t having any of that. He wasn’t in the mood for anyone in this hellhole to have any sort of physical contact with him, pleasant or otherwise.
    â€œYeah, just come in and have a seat over there,” one of the secretaries rudely motioned to a set of chairs on the far side of the room.
    Dismissing him as if he was one of the faceless homeless individuals that paraded in and out nightly, Lonnie had a burning desire to run across the room and slap the cow shit out of her. She was no better than anyone else, although the way she was dressed, Lonnie knew she couldn’t be told that. And if she was, she’d never believe it. Doing as he was asked—or ordered—he took a seat and waited. After being forced to hear about two different guys she was dating, the fact she needed brakes on her car, and she’d braggingly just purchased several packs of expensive human hair from overseas, she was ready to deal with him. “Yeah, my name is Lonnie; Lonnie McKay.”
    â€œOkay and . . . Soooo . . .” she kinda sucked her teeth as her stank attitude increased.
    Thrown off by her unprofessional manner, Lonnie had to catch himself from dishing out what he was receiving. He’d been dealing with all sorts of women since hanging with Kevin, so nothing that came out of a female’s mouth surprised him at this time. It didn’t matter if they were a doctor, a lawyer, a factory worker, ballerina, drunk, or pillhead. To Lonnie, all bitches were the same; headaches waiting to happen. Containing himself, he simply responded by handing her a set of court-ordered documents that someone in charge of the shelter had to sign off on at the end of the day. “Here you go. I’m supposed to have these signed.”
    Her attitude seemed to get worse as she read over the lower portion of the form. It was apparent she’d come to the part where he was to do whatever work, within reason, the shelter needed him to do. It was as if she got on a power trip and was ready to ride high. “Oh, I see. You just didn’t come here to ‘volunteer’; you here to us by force. I should’ve known a young man your age wasn’t into helping others; just because.”
    Not wanting to cause trouble, Lonnie tried to keep his mouth shut, but couldn’t resist knocking the uppity woman down a few pegs. “Look, I’m sorry you’re having a bad day; I truly am. However, for a person that has the charge and responsibility to help others that are less fortunate, I find it outrageous that you look down at me for being young and for having made a mistake. I had a choice to do other forms of community service,” he decided to lie and add it on extra thick, “yet I chose to be here and at other shelters and do what I can. Now here I stand, hat in hand, and you make me feel less than human. I’m sorry I can’t fix your brakes or afford that hair, but I can carry boxes or move furniture.”
    The woman felt like shit on a stick after Lonnie finished reading her. Before she could even try to cop a plea for her over-the-top judgments, the man who was in charge came in. Relieved he wouldn’t have to take orders from such a bitch, Lonnie went with Mr. Reynolds into