Today, we went to the local warehouse drop-out site for all the clothing, diapers, etc. for the evacuee's in Denver. HOLY MOSES. There's so much!! The warehouse itself is stacked high and full of boxes and trash bags, miscellaneous pieces of high chairs, baby cribs, big people beds, dressers, you name it - it's there.

Jane (the ignorant slut one) and I went around 9 a.m. and worked until about noon. I'm not sure we even made one small dent in the mass amounts of clothing, but we tried.

I was most amused (read: annoyed) with two of the volunteers. They weren't from the Salvation Army or the Red Cross or any organziation. They were just off the streets like us looking to lend a hand.

Instead, we were met with yelling. And I do mean YELLING. The woman was bossy - lord, was she. While the objective was to move a stack of boxes (pre-sorted by some organization already) against the wall by label (Women's Shoes, Women's XL Pants, Women's SM Shirts, etc), she made it virtually impossible. She wanted (and why her??) all of the boxes to be super specific. If you put a long sleeved shirt in with a sweater, you were reprimanded. It was impressive.

Jane and I decided (after getting barked at a little too long) that we'd start pulling out the boxes that had general marks on them (Women's Clothing) and start sorting through those on tables, repacking them into boxes, then moving them by the wall. She would come by with her stinky sweaty fat head and yell at us. YELL.

One little old man asked if he could use her tape. She was running around with her stupid stinky sweaty fat head mouth taping up useless pieces of paper (signs) to the wall. She was becoming so obsessed with the minute details of what was in each box, we were running OUT of room for Men's, Children, etc. So, Sweet Old Guy asks for tape, and she yells, "NO!! THIS IS MY TAPE! I WILL BRING YOU BITS AND PIECES AS YOU ARE READY FOR THEM!!!" Then to me, "DO NOT CUT CORNERS! THIS IS THE LAST TIME THEY WILL BE SORTED!"

(you're telling me when these boxes are unpacked at the local 'store' they've set up for the hurricane folks that someone isn't going to rifle through and make sure again? Holy hell)

Then, there's the other Yelling Man that I cannot figure out for the life of me. He decided a mattress that had been delivered (which we were moving out of the way because Sweaty Fat Head Woman put too many damn pieces of paper up on the west wall and we needed more room for shoes ... women's shoes ... like, at least 50 boxes alone!) needed to be thrown away. So, to SFH Woman he yells, "HEY! WHOSE BRILLIANT BRAIN FART WAS THIS!" I sincerely wonder if they were married. If not, they should have been. And if they were, they should not be allowed under any circumstances to make babies. Ever.

About the time Jane and I find our way back to the table to , this booming voice from Yelling Man makes me nearly piss my pants. A Salvation Army truck has pulled up with yet MORE clothing and he yells to us, "LADIES! DROP WHAT YOU DOING AND GET OVER HERE! MOVE IT!! MOVE IT!!!" .

Holy Christ!! It's not some Death March in Siberia!! We are in middle America, sorting clothes, and absolutely NOT going to get through all this stuff in the next 8 hours. It's humanly impossible.

After this little outburst from Captain Loudmouth, Jane and I decide to head out and get some personal space from these nutjobs. Too many chiefs, not enough indians.

With all of this said, I should point out that our community has been extremely generous. Most of the clothing was in good quality and will be used by these folks.

But, to the dumbass at the site today who said, "Why the hell can't THEY (evacuee's) come down and sort clothes? They have nothing else to do!" ... I hope YOUR house is washed away with all of YOUR possessions. Maybe then you'll learn how these people feel, and how it would be EVERYTHING to them to be held up for a while.