The hallway lights were dimmed, and the building was holding its breath, hoping the plumbing wouldnât act up again.
Spoiler alert: it did.
The bathtub drain decided to throw a tantrum. Water wouldnât go down, the kids couldnât shower, and the hygiene gods were not amused. Naturally, this called for an emergency response.
Enter Kyle Fitzgerald, our Vice Chair of the Board and unofficial Emergency Plumber Extraordinaire. Alongside him was Cole, another board member who probably didnât sign up for 6:30 AM plumbing duty but showed up anywayâbecause thatâs how Lighthouse Shelter rolls.
They arrived early Saturday morning, tools in hand, ready to battle the bathtub beast. But before they could even get started, Ricky made his grand entranceâstomping down the hallway like he was auditioning for Shelter Wars: The Drain Awakens.
He muttered something about âf***ing quiet hours,â loud enough to wake the mold in the walls. Kyle, ever the calm plumber-warrior, asked, âWhat did you say?â Ricky doubled down, face-to-face, with the kind of energy usually reserved for courtroom dramas or reality TV showdowns.
Kyle, unfazed and still holding a wrench, replied, âYou can get your belongings and leave.â
But instead of a dramatic exit, Ricky was handed a Personal Improvement Planâa.k.a. the âLetâs Get It Togetherâ Plan. It wasnât just about behaviorâit was about dignity, accountability, and growth.
The plan included:
- No more hallway stomping or soap opera monologues.
- Mental health support (because yelling at pipes doesnât fix them).
- A gratitude journal (three things a dayâlike âKyle didnât throw a wrench at meâ).
- Respectful communication (if it wouldnât make your grandma proud, donât say it).
Meanwhile, back in the office, the Executive Director was already implementing the Shelter Town Crier Protocolâa heads-up system to let clients know when visitors are coming. Because this isnât a surprise party. Itâs their home. And knowing whoâs walking through the door helps everyone feel safer, calmer, and more in control.
Visitors now arrive with introductions, estimated arrival times, and the occasional interpretive dance. Clients get to prepare, breathe, and maybe even tidy up. And if someone forgets to give a heads-up? Well, thatâs what the whiteboard is for.
The lesson? At Lighthouse Shelter, we fix drains, we fix drama, and we do it all before most people have had their first cup of coffee. Because when youâre running a shelter, youâre not just managing housingâyouâre managing humanity. And sometimes, humanity comes with a plunger.
If youâve enjoyed this chapter of the Lighthouse Chronicles, consider supporting the mission. All proceeds go directly to the Lighthouse Shelterâwhere second chances arenât just offered, theyâre lived.