Fight the Good Fight
The Sunday before Thanksgiving I served dinner at the main Salvation Army across from Parkland Hospital with 30 or south church youth and a few other adult counselors as our Act of Service program. If you've never done such a job you might think that everyone you help will look at you with eyes of appreciation. Respect. Expect to feel warm and fuzzy for all the good you're doing for those in need.
Real life isn't like that, obviously, and serving in such conditions is an interesting exercise in how people will react to things that are out of their comfort zone.
Some people respond well, are thankful, polite. Others. Not so much.
Below is one such story which nearly two weeks later still cracks me up.
"Taquitos!"
The big black man didn't look pleased as he surveyed his cafeteria style tray of carbs (slice of white bread, spanish style rice, refried beans and the offending taquitos which were drizzled in a brown gravy that you'd normally see on pot roast or mashed potatoes) I served him.
The big black man tore his eyes from the offending tray to meet my eyes. The two youth flanking me, both took a step back and to the side to position themselves behind me and farther away from the big black man who had a big mean look on his face.
"Taquitos!" He said again, only this time he picked up the right side of his tray ever so slightly, an inch or two, and added, "And fucking brown gravy!"
The two youth took another step back behind me as the man released the tray from his hand which made a loud pop sound as it met the surface of the table.
"Motherfucker!" He raged.
"Dude," I said looking him in the eyes. You're supposed to call them a client.
"I didn't make it. I just served it to you."
The big black man looked me in the eyes as he considered what I had said. The two youth flankikng me would have stepped even farther back I'm sure if there was more room. Alas there was not, so they both sort of shifted behind my body as we waited for the big black man's response.
He keep his eyes on me as he reached down to grab one of the fucking taquitos in the motherfucking brown gravy which he promptly shoveled into his mouth.
"Enjoy," I said trying hard to not sound like a smart ass.
He half smiled, maybe more a smirk, at me before he said, "Thank you."
Until I BLOG again... Every minute every day.
Real life isn't like that, obviously, and serving in such conditions is an interesting exercise in how people will react to things that are out of their comfort zone.
Some people respond well, are thankful, polite. Others. Not so much.
Below is one such story which nearly two weeks later still cracks me up.
"Taquitos!"
The big black man didn't look pleased as he surveyed his cafeteria style tray of carbs (slice of white bread, spanish style rice, refried beans and the offending taquitos which were drizzled in a brown gravy that you'd normally see on pot roast or mashed potatoes) I served him.
The big black man tore his eyes from the offending tray to meet my eyes. The two youth flanking me, both took a step back and to the side to position themselves behind me and farther away from the big black man who had a big mean look on his face.
"Taquitos!" He said again, only this time he picked up the right side of his tray ever so slightly, an inch or two, and added, "And fucking brown gravy!"
The two youth took another step back behind me as the man released the tray from his hand which made a loud pop sound as it met the surface of the table.
"Motherfucker!" He raged.
"Dude," I said looking him in the eyes. You're supposed to call them a client.
"I didn't make it. I just served it to you."
The big black man looked me in the eyes as he considered what I had said. The two youth flankikng me would have stepped even farther back I'm sure if there was more room. Alas there was not, so they both sort of shifted behind my body as we waited for the big black man's response.
He keep his eyes on me as he reached down to grab one of the fucking taquitos in the motherfucking brown gravy which he promptly shoveled into his mouth.
"Enjoy," I said trying hard to not sound like a smart ass.
He half smiled, maybe more a smirk, at me before he said, "Thank you."
Until I BLOG again... Every minute every day.
You know, I kind of feel that way sometimes too. Might not say the same words as the big black man... but, still feel the same way:) Good stuff.
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