Gill Harlee, a barrel-chested guy with a huge laugh; a round, bowling-ball stomach; and an explosive temper. A meaningless disagreement on something as simple as the weather could set him off and lead to fights. Good mood or bad, he always shouted as if he was trying to make himself heard above insurmountable noise.

Marcela Brooks, a woman who came in every morning for coffee, who we all called Granny because of her age. Depending on the day, she’d tell us she was seventy-eight or ninety. She wrapped herself in at least three coats and used a wheelchair like a walker, hobbling behind it and pausing every so often to catch her breath, her lined face canyoned with exhaustion.

On a Wednesday afternoon, the committee interviewed Johnny first. We sat in a circle by a closet where we stored the mats. We held a list of ten questions. The sun shone and I could see seagulls circling above a YMCA at the corner of Golden Gate and Leavenworth. Johnny took a chair next to mine. I smelled the alcohol on his breath.

First question:

Charles: What would you do if the shelter was full and someone needed a place to stay at two in the morning? Would you turn them away?

No, Johnny answered. He’d find them a spot even if it meant sitting in a chair. Granny asked a similar question about a family that showed up in the middle of the night. Johnny said he wouldn’t bother calling other shelters. He understood we weren’t a family shelter, but at that hour a family would need rest, especially the kids. He’d take them in too.

God bless the children, Granny said, and then launched into a story about how she was denied shelter by the Salvation Army because she refused to take a shower.

That wasn’t right, she said. A shelter’s not supposed to turn people away. I’m an old woman.

After we finish here, Granny, you and I will talk about it, I said.

It wasn’t right what happened to me, Granny insisted.

I turned to Charles and Gill.

Let’s continue, I said.

What about me? Granny said.

We’ll talk, I said.

Second question:

Gill: What would you do if . . . Gill stopped and put the list of questions aside. Instead, he asked Johnny if he’d kick someone out of the shelter if they were caught drinking or using. Before he could answer, Gill demanded, What about you? Would you eighty-six yourself?

What do you mean?

You come to work drunk.

I don’t drink here, Johnny said.

Gill smirked.

Do you attend AA, Johnny? Charles asked.

No, Johnny said.

Would you go to AA if you get this job?

I don’t see why I would, Johnny said. I don’t drink at work.

Let’s stick to the questions, I said, raising the list.

Gill made a face and his hand shook with mounting anger, but he didn’t explode. I appreciated his self-control. Still, he’d done some damage.

Billy showed up fifteen minutes late. He couldn’t find his keys, he explained. As excuses went, that was so acceptably mainstream he left me speechless.

First question:

Charles: If it’s raining outside, would you open the shelter earlier than usual?

Billy scrunched up his face, thinking. He wanted to know the situation of each person seeking shelter. Had they ever been eighty-sixed? Were they intoxicated? Were other shelters available to them? The committee made up answers to his hypotheticals until I intervened, contract be damned.

Billy, just answer. It’s a yes-or-no question.

Then yes, he said, although I think these questions need to be more specific.

When we finished interviewing Billy, I walked him to the door, closing it behind him.

What do you all think? I asked.

Johnny, the committee agreed, was the better applicant. He answered the questions with common sense. They’d seen him on the job. They knew he was reliable. Billy, they worried, would complicate the simplest problem. They worried he’d obsess over one task at the expense of others. However, Johnny’s drinking disturbed them more. Whatever else could be said about Billy, he wouldn’t be drunk when he enforced the rules about alcohol and drugs.

Why do you allow Johnny to work with alcohol on his breath? Charles asked me.

I’ve always wondered that myself, Gill said.

I didn’t answer. My overriding principle: Make a bad situation less bad. Johnny was my less bad.

Because we’re here for people with problems and despite all of his, he works out better than most.

They didn’t disagree. However, whatever their own problems, Charles, Gill, and Granny understood hypocrisy. They voted for Billy.

Now, are we going to talk about me getting thrown out of the Salvation Army? Granny asked.

Billy, I knew, would be a disaster. I needed a plan. Crisis fueled quick thinking. I reminded the committee that according to the contract, the ED had to sign off on all new hires. I knew McGraw wouldn’t care who I hired. I just had to tell him. I didn’t. Not yet. Instead, I called the committee back for a meeting the next day and commenced to tell them one bald-faced lie after another. I told them that I’d met with McGraw and he had recommended hiring both Billy and Johnny. He wanted one of them to supervise the day program, the other the night shelter. It would provide for better coverage to split the position into two.

Granny and Gill liked the idea. Only Charles objected.

What’s the point of having a hiring committee if McGraw’s just going to make his own decision? he asked.

He didn’t decide, I said. He just gave us another idea. Think about it. This will open up two staff positions.

Charles, I knew, wanted a job. It served my purpose to dangle the possibility now. I couldn’t tell if he picked up on my not-so-subtle hint, but he didn’t push his objection. The contract could talk about homeless people participating in decision-making all it wanted but everyone knew who was in charge. McGraw. The committee had its say. By channeling McGraw and offering a bribe, I had mine.

As I figured, McGraw didn’t care. He thought it was a little cumbersome having two supervisors, but if that’s what I wanted, fine. I gave him some mumbo jumbo about how it was an example of the agency taking a job opening and creating more than just one opportunity. He gave that laugh again and slapped me on the shoulder. He liked how that sounded. Funders would eat it up. McGraw got his talking point. The committee got Billy. I got Johnny. Win-win-win.

I gave Johnny days and Billy nights. There wouldn’t be much to do at night once the lights went out at eight, which I thought would suit Billy best. Johnny worked out as I knew he would. Boozy breath, but fine. Billy, however, was Billy.

I’m sorry I’m late, Billy would apologize to me. The bus was running behind schedule. And I talked to the driver about how that wasn’t right, and he talked back to me. So I wouldn’t get off until he apologized.

I’d listen. I always listened. Billy’s outrage at everyday insults that the rest of us took for granted I found endearing. Soon however, the tardiness got out of hand and I suspended him for two days, but it didn’t make an impression. Finally, I dropped him down to shelter staff again. He didn’t object. OK, he said. The dejected look on his face told me he didn’t understand that I didn’t appreciate his need to confront life’s every disparaging moment.