Working at non-profits often means chaos at the holiday season. Now I'm in a fairly quiet desk job in which holiday chaos is minimal. There were about 6 years in a row where I had to work every major holiday. At the time, I was a little resentful of that fact, but now, in a very sick way, I miss it.
In my former job as a professional friend to the elderly, the holiday season was the busiest time of year. On Thanksgiving day volunteers delivered turkey dinners and flowers to over 500 elderly. Christmas was the same routine with the addition of personalized gifts. Plus there were holiday parties for the elders, cards sent out and a general tizzy that buzzed through the air from October to December.
The holiday season officially started on October first with the addition of the Holiday Assistant, Bea. "Welcome to LB!" Bea yelled, as she walked in the front door. She yelled this every morning. Bea can't help but make an entrance. Her southern charm, biting honesty and general sassiness were the final ingredients in the recipe for the holiday season at LB.
Giving personalized gifts meant finding out the Christmas wishes of over 500 elderly. This was Bea's primary job and one that no one else could do as well. Some people's graciousness caused them to act as if they didn't want anything for Christmas. This is where Bea's sales experience shined. "Oh, come on, Mildred! Don't tell me you don't want ANYTHING!" Sometimes she'd suggest an item to be paired with the gift they received from us the previous year. "I see here you received a pink robe last Christmas. How did that work out? Could you use a pair of nice white slippers to go with that?" When really grasping for ideas, Bea always presented the same choice. "Can I interest you in a small bedside radio or maybe some See's candies?" If a customer decided to settle on the See's candy, Bea always followed up with the question, "Soft-centered or nut chews?" When I laughed at these options, Bea straightened me out. "Some of these folks ain't got but one tooth! They need something soft!"
There were a fair amount of elders being visited that did not speak English. Ideally, this meant finding volunteers who spoke their native language, to call the elders and ask them what they wanted for Christmas. Or, it meant, Bea screaming into the phone, slowly. "I SAID....SMALL BEDSIDE RADIO? SEE'S CANDY?" Eventually she'd hang up and just make a decision. "I think Mr. Wu would really enjoy a Wallgreen's gift card."
The other side of that Christmas gift process was finding 500 people to fulfill these wishes. Thanks to the graciousness of our fellow man and woman, it was not that hard to find people interested in getting a gift for an elder. Keeping it all organized was another story. The phone rang all day long. Elders confirming their visits and making requests like, "I usually go out to get the paper at 10 so if the volunteer comes at that time, please tell them to wait for me." Then gift givers called with detailed questions. "Hi...I'm getting the gift for Rosemary who's 86. It says that she'd like a medium sized robe. Do you think she'd prefer terrycloth or silk?" Contrary to popular belief, I had not memorized the wishes and needs of the over 500 elderly who would be receiving gifts, but I got great at making these decisions on the fly. "Oh, Rosemary! She's kookoo for terrycloth! Happy Holidays and thanks!" Meanwhile I've got Fred on the other line. Fred lived down the street from the office and would show up and/or call at least every other day to bitch about something.
Fred: Mary. I need to change my Christmas gift request.
Me: Sorry, Fred. It's too late. Santa's elves have been given their orders and are already at the shop.
Fred: Jesus, Mary. Can't you do this for me? What the hell? I'm asking you for one favor.
Me: Ya know what, Fred? Gift giving really loses its luster when the recipient is so freaking demanding. Santa will not screw you over. Have a great day!
Fred: (Angry mumbling).
We hang up. The phone rings immediately.
Fred: Hey Mary. When I was born I was so ugly that the doctor slapped my mother. Have a great day!
The real irony was that Fred had asked for a basic gift and wanted to switch it to something equally as basic, but we had already decided to give him a new bed, because his was a piece of crap. He cried when it was delivered. He made the staff go over to his apartment and take pictures when he put his comforter on it. Sometimes I miss that grumpy old pain in my ass.
Bob, another old guy who lived right by the office, was Fred's opposite. He was very appreciative and always positively gay. And by gay I mean cheerful. And he liked dudes. His thick accent made it clear that he was from Boston, but San Francisco was his one true love. When I asked him if he missed the east coast, he said in his high-pitched raspy voice, "Not really. San Francisco is my city of liberation!" One year Bob requested a cd player for Christmas. He liked to walk around the neighborhood and hang out at the coffee shop, so we got him a discman. One afternoon a co-worker and I met Bob for coffee, and he sat across from us, sipping his coffee, with his brand-new GIGANTIC headphones plastered to his head, and grinned from ear to ear. "Ya know what?!", Bob shouted, after some silence. "On My Own was the only good song that Celine Dion EVER sang!!!"
Another aspect of holiday season at LB was the donations that rolled in. And by rolled in, I mean those that I, and my co-worker Cristin, picked up from various locations around the city. It was a total crapshoot on whether the things were usable or not. One day we did a pick-up at a church in the outer reaches of the Sunset District. About 14 gigantic garbage bags full of donations. Garbage bags were the appropriate container for most of these items. My favorite item was a magnet that said, "Mary's Central Shrine." Because I don't have magnetic pants, I put it on the filing cabinet next to my desk. The stained mirror was another gem of a donation. It was, of course, broken in many pieces by the time we got back to the office, thereby ruining a perfectly good bag of used make-up and dirty clothes.
And let us not forget the hundreds of emails that would come in each day, many from people interested in volunteering for the holidays. Some would give a bit of unsolicited background on their interests and what led them to contact our organization. For example:
Hi. There is a possibility I may not be here for Christmas, but if I am, I would really like to volunteer to visit with some elderly people. When I was younger I had a couple of very tame pet goats that I used to bring to nursing homes for visits. I also used to take my dogs to visit troubled teens. Please contact me. Thanks, Cheri, age 31.
The preparations for Christmas Day were intense but the actual day was a beautiful case of well-organized chaos. On Christmas Eve, volunteers wrapped and organized gifts, carved turkeys, and helped set-up the gigantic room where the Christmas Day festivities took place. On Christmas morning, volunteers arrived at the crack of dawn to begin making the meals. Other volunteers took charge of the volunteer snack station. The same guy showed up every year in his Santa suit to spread cheer to the masses and help direct incoming volunteers to the right location. Many families made volunteering just a regular part of their Christmas Day. Then at about 10am, the visiting volunteers began arriving to pick out an elder or two to visit. They'd go through the stations, get the gift, the flower, the food, and then be on their way. Everyone was in a great mood. Music played. People that got to know each other just from volunteering together every Christmas reconnected and caught up on each other's lives. I felt lucky to be a part of it all.
Then the calls would start coming in.
"Hi...I was assigned Roger Smith. My young daughter and I showed up at his apartment and he answered the door without pants on. There was porn spread out on his bed." Whoopsy daisy! Gotta amend Roger's record in the database when I get back to the office!
Then we had the "emergencies" like, "MARY! There is no cream cheese at the volunteer food station! We've got hundreds of bagels and no one knows where the cream cheese is!!" Suddenly I was giving a random volunteer the keys to my car and the directions to the nearest grocery store.
Aside from a handful of panicked calls, and a number of fake emergencies, most of the visits went off without a hitch. The large majority of the elders were extremely grateful and many sent frilly little hand-written thank you notes saying so. Volunteers all pitched in to clean the place up, and I'd scoot right off to the airport to catch a flight to New Jersey. It was a little sad to miss the festivities with my family on Christmas Eve, but I liked traveling on Christmas Day. Everyone is always so friendly and the flights are never crowded. After a long day of work and travel, I'd always arrive to the festivities at my parents' house, a little tired and overwhelmed, but very grateful.
This year I'll be heading to Jersey on the 22nd. No rushing from coast to coast on Christmas Day. I feel lucky to be able to enjoy a few solid days of festivities with my family, but there's a part of me that will miss being in the thick of LB holiday chaos. I wonder if Roger will wear pants this year.
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