If I didn’t Shower, who would hire me?

by Tricia Ward/POOR Magazine Poverty Studies Intern

Christopher’s laughter and shrill yelps of joy echoed down the long hallway in my mother’s house. As he gleefully ran away from the porcelain confines of the bathtub, leaving wet footprints and a trail of suds on floor behind him, I sighed. What should have been a simple act of giving my 3-year-old nephew a bath had turned into a most complicated project. I picked up the tiny plastic boats and purple submarine that had been launched unceremoniously out of the tub, popped the cap back on the sweet-smelling baby shampoo that promised "no more tears", grabbed a fluffy towel from the towel rack and went to find my young charge.

There are no nautical bath toys or tear-free baby shampoo in the bathrooms at Mission High School where The Shower Project, run by the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC), takes place every weekend. Walking down the dim corridor underneath the high school that leads to the gymnasium where the showers are, I’m struck by the realization that a simple concept could have such a huge impact. Some of the clients of the project are homeless, some have jobs, some live in residential hotels, but none of them have ready access to a shower on a regular basis. In the shower room at Mission High School, you won’t find scented bath gels, conditioner that gives fine hair unbelievable volume and control, or stacks of brightly colored, plush bath-sheet sized towels like the kind that fill the linen closet at my mother’s house. What you will find however, a is place where for a few hours each weekend, men and women who don’t have the luxury of being able to take a shower in their own private bathroom can come, and with no questions asked, and get themselves clean.

I don’t use the word ‘luxury’ lightly. Until I visited the Shower Project one Saturday afternoon, I didn’t realize what an extravagance that Christopher’s bath or even my own daily shower is.
The facilities at the school are nothing like the bathroom where my nephew holds court in my mother’s house; the lighting is harsh, the tile is ugly, there is no soft bath rug to step on so your feet don’t get cold after you bathe, but the showers work, they are functional, they allow people to be clean, at least one day a week. I stand in the hallway with the peeling brown and yellow paint waiting to speak to someone about the project. As they wait to shower, clients sit, mainly silent, along a row of fold-up chairs that line the hallway, clutching their borrowed towels and coffee cups. Everyone is patiently waiting their turn. After showering, most don’t hang around. Clothes are hurriedly put on, goodbyes are said to acquaintances, thank you’s are given to the volunteers and the men and women leave.

Most probably don’t feel welcome to linger. The area outside the school is an enclave of yuppie-ness in an otherwise rough Mission neighborhood. It’s bordered by cafes and coffee shops and the picturesque Dolores Park, which on this bright afternoon is filled with children, tennis players and sunbathers. Recently there was opposition from the surrounding community in regards to the shower project. Various neighborhood groups had been working to rid the area of drug dealers that hung around in the park and complained of littering and loitering that the Shower Project supposedly encouraged.

I asked L.S. Wilson of the Coalition on Homelessness why getting a shower is important to houseless folks, "Being clean is an exit to homelessness,"

I think about this statement and the opposition to the project as I speak to a young man named Dave who frequently comes to the shower project. "If I didn’t shower, who would hire me to paint?" Dave posed that question to after he had just freshly showered and with his dark hair combed back slick against his head looked like he should be sitting at a table among the families that were enjoying their weekend brunch at the café across the street. Although Dave has a job as a painter, he can’t afford the high rents in the city and lives out of his work van. He’s understanding of the neighbors’ apprehensiveness in having a group of strangers in their neighborhood, but without this project, he’d never be able to clean himself up and be hired to paint. If he didn’t paint, he wouldn’t be able to afford his van and would be completely on the streets. I wonder if the neighbors who object to the project would like it better if they had to step over him sleeping on their doorstep every morning?

One of the project volunteers, Cassandra, tells me what the MCC did in order to address the community complaints. A private security guard was hired to keep clients from wandering over to the park or lining up outside the school in view of the neighborhood residents while waiting of their turn to shower. A list of strict rules for clients written in both English and Spanish is posted on the double doors that lead to the showers. Clients who break any of the rules such as using profanity or fighting with other clients run the risk of not be able to take part in the program. The Saturday I was there volunteers and clients were patrolling the area outside the school building in search of litter and wayward debris, being careful to keep the place spic and span, probably cleaner than it usually is on an afternoon when school lets out. The volunteers and clients take this very seriously; the project was in danger of being shut down until last Tuesday. Fortunately in a small victory thanks to the lobbying efforts of the MCC, The Coalition On Homelessness and other groups, the project was able to renew its permit for at least one more year. Cassandra summarizes all of this matter-of-factly to me, without a hint of bitterness at the struggle the project has faced. She simply seems relieved that, for now, the project will continue.

Back I at my mother’s house, I was able to score my own victory as I corralled my protesting nephew and plunked him back into the bubble filled tub. As I finished the task of cleaning the indignant, squirming 3-year old, who would much rather remain dirty than waste precious playtime in the bath. I reflected on the fact he’s too young to even have any concept of what a privilege a bath can be.