As we drove to the Drop Inn I wondered what we were about to experience. I didn't know what to expect.
When we walked in the door, a man made a peculiar face and muttered a few profane words, which I think were directed toward us. I could be wrong. He was probably high.
I was in charge of the main course, which was initially ravioli. A lot of them would ask for more in the bowl, so I would always fill it to the top. Once it ran out, we had to switch to beans. “Where’d the other stuff go?” people would ask. I felt guilty telling them it was gone. Maybe I served the first-comers too much. After a while, someone said, “Please stop serving this nasty stuff!” At least he said please.
“Don’t end up where I am,” an older man said. I didn’t know how to respond, so I told him I appreciated it.
Almost everyone thanked me. As for the ones who didn’t, I could see that they were ashamed to be in their position. I wish none of them thanked me. I don’t think we needed or even deserved to be thanked, so I would say “no problem." We were just handing them food. We didn’t buy it, we didn’t prepare it, and if we weren’t there, someone else would have served it. These people deserved to have food just like anyone else.
Standing behind the food stand secluded us from the rest of the visitors. I worried that after a while, they probably started to feel like animals. They’re just like anyone else—just less fortunate. I was happy towards the end when we had a chance to talk to some of them.
I was surprised that so many of them had a sense of humor. Someone started telling us a joke, but it was difficult to understand him. I kept hearing “One, two, three,” over and over again. We all laughed. I’m sure it was a good joke. A lot of them were very funny.
A man sketched pictures of Taylor and Ambrose. He used a pencil. The papers were the backsides of paper restaurant menus. I hoped he didn’t look at the front. I want him to have real art supplies.
Another man claimed he had walked across the country, from Las Angeles to New York City, and then to Washington DC. I believe him.
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Despite your "freezer full of food", you took no part in getting these individuals addicted to drugs, out of work, and/or homeless. Therefore, you should not feel guilt, seeing as the mechanisms behind their unfortunate circumstances were not launched by your own hand, and are quite out of your control.
ReplyDeleteNo we did not prepare the food, and no, we were probably not even needed to volunteer that night.
Man, I am just so annoyed at people who keep saying they feel guilt. I don't get it. If we need to feel guilt, I suggest feeling guilty about our furtive "observations" of these people, and maybe even any offensive presumptions we might have made (ie: "He was probably high").
I must admit, though, that the most fascinating part of the trip was the little anecdotes (that I could understand) from some of the men. The man who told us of his walking trip across the US was very compelling, and I enjoyed it a lot.
Do you wanna fight me, Jack?
ReplyDeleteIt's on.