new faces

We've had a sudden flood of volunteers recently. There are several new "9 to 5" volunteers - foreign, usually twentysomething folks who come to the shelter through volunteer-sending organizations. These volunteers pay a king's ransom to their organizations, and in exchange they receive food, housing in the city, and a ride to and from their "internships" every day. I can't really rag on the organizations, even under the cover of Internet anonymity, because I think that they generally do good work, and I'm quite fond of most of their staffs. However, I will say that it's way cheaper for a volunteer to deal directly with the shelter and either live on-site or rent a room nearby. On the other hand, some of the volunteers are city mice who probably wouldn't dig living full-time on an isolated farm and fishing spiders out of their tea. Different strokes.

Speaking of on-site people, it was just me and Pippi until this past week, when we welcomed three new long-term volunteers. There's Teddy, a sturdy Australian in his mid-20s, who will be living in the slightly decrepit bamboo house for the next several months, potentially through July. He's a very nice guy - a childhood friend of Pippi's, actually, and let me tell you, the combined force of their Australian-ness is sometimes overwhelming.

Then there's George and Ruthie, an older American couple who are planning to stay until the end of March. They also seem nice, if a tiny bit more flustered than your average volunteer. Normally I'm pretty good at connecting with older adults, possibly because of the whole Baba Yaga thing, but Ruthie and George are apparently resistant to my charms. It's all I can do to squeeze the barest smile out of them. Tough crowd. Hopefully they'll relax some as they get used to the pace and atmosphere of the shelter.

They're hardly new arrivals, but I've been spending a lot of time recently with the director Harriet's three kids, all of whom attend international schools but speak fluent Thai.

12-year-old Elsa is a complicated soul. She's a nerd who doesn't much care about school, a geek who loves Twilight and Tamora Pierce but has never read Harry Potter. She seeks me out regularly, and I truly do enjoy her company. She's surprisingly mature for her age, so much so that I often forget that I'm talking to someone who's not allowed to shave her legs yet. She has strong opinions on just about everything, from Edward vs. Jacob to the prevalence of slavery and misogyny in ancient Rome. She asks for piggyback rides, then tells me quite seriously that the longer I stay at the shelter, the more I'll understand the human face of true evil.

Elsa's little sister Dotty is an odd duck herself. She is brutally honest in that way that only 8-year-olds can pull off, blurting out whatever comes into her head with no padding or editing. A couple weeks ago, she wrapped her arms around my waist, then said to me, with a certain degree of awe, "You're even fatter than my mom." Minutes later, she told me that she was glad I was the new volunteer coordinator, because no one else would have been as nice and funny as I was. She also loves to do that little hand trick where you slot your fingers in with another person's and then part your hands, allowing you to view what looks vaguely like either an anus or a certain part of the female anatomy. I once overheard Elsa scolding Dotty about her little hobby, saying, "When I was your age, I was learning massage, not showing people buttholes."

Finally, I've been trying to charm Elsa and Dotty's 14-year-old brother, Dexter. Everyone has told me that he doesn't really talk to anyone, refuses to be drawn out, so I always feel inordinately proud of myself when I engage him in conversation or persuade him to help me with a Sporcle quiz. What can I say? My days are a string of embarrassments and misunderstandings, peppered with small victories and pleasant surprises. I'll take my little pleasures where I can find them.