I found myself doing mandatory community service in a kitchen
for those without shelter or food. I didn't want to have to explain
to the people I'd be working with the situation that brought me
here. I was relieved once I realized that they didn't care why I was
there. They had enough to worry about themselves. That was
good to know because I expected to answer that question every
time I came in contact with a new service worker. And, believe
me, there were many that came and went. I saw new faces every
time I walked into that kitchen.
I didn't get that dreaded question one hundred times. In fact, I
never got it once. What I did get were questions of a different
sort. I was asked by many, “How many hours of service do you
have to do?” And, “When do they have to be done?”
Those two questions literally changed my view of mandatory
community service and my view of the people I worked with. I
immediately saw something in common with each of those people
who came and went and whom were in the same position as
myself.
Those people were all dreamers.
See, the question I expected to get (What did you do to get
mandatory community service?) was a question about my past.
Those other service workers wanted nothing to do with the past.
They knew the past was filled with pain and bad decisions.
The questions they did ask were of the present (How many hours
of service do you have to do?) and future (When do they have to
be done?” They were constantly looking ahead. They were
looking to accomplish something, whether it be to get their
probation officer off of their back and go on with the life they
know, or whether it be to make a better life for themselves.
That wasn't for me to judge. I looked at them all the same. As
dreamers not concerned with the past. They were different than
most people because they found comfort in the questions, not
the answers.
With that knowledge of them my experiences and conversations
with them began to take a whole other form. Some of those
experiences and conversations were hilarious and others were so
deeply rooted in emotion that they are hard for me to revisit in my
own mind.
I'm going to attempt to share those stories with you here. Stories
of dreamers who have made bad decisions in their life sometime
along their journey. But those are in the past; here is just the truth,
not in the way they lived, but in the way they live.
BEETS
Kenneth was a white man in his mid 40s, about six and a half foot
tall and had hands the size of a professional basetball player. We
were the only two white people working that day. We both got
stuck cleaning out the garbage cans and taking the garbage and
recycling out the back door. It was a bit of a walk to carry all of
those bags out. We pushed some of it out on a cart.
As Kenneth and I cleaned the garbage cans we talked. After a lull
in the conversation I noticed he hadn't yet asked me about my
hours so I asked him fishing for more conversation. He said at the
beginning of the day he'd only had five and a half hours left. He'd
been there for two already.
“So you're done with community service altogether when you
clock out today?” I asked him.
“YES! Thank God, too. I just want to go home and drink some
shots of wiskey and chill with my friends who are all ready at my
house.”
The look in Kenneth's eyes as he mentioned the shots of wiskey
was that of need. I didn't ask but I figured his being there had
something to do with drinking. Before I had a chance to continue
the conversation Kenneth shook his head and said, “I've got to
stop drinking. My health is calling for it.”
About that time the head of the kitchen, our boss so to speak,
Jackay, a short extremely laid back African-American woman,
strolled over to us pusing a cart full of boxes and canned food.
She told us that everything on that cart was expired and told us
when we were done scrubbing the garbage cans to push the cart
out back and throw all the food away.
As she walked away she told she said to take home anything from
the cart that we could use at home, provided we weren't scared of
expiration dates. I wasn't taking anything. Kenneth said he was
going to go through the food as we threw it in the dumpster. He
said there may be something in there he could use...and if we
went through each item one by one it may just kill some time or
make the time he had left to do go by faster. I chuckled at this.
We scrubbed the garbage cans in hopes to make them look like
new ones but half way through realized that wasn't going to
happen. As we scrubbed we talke about what it means to have a
healthy physical life, diet, and exercise.We took a step back and
looked at the garbage cans and felt they looked good enough.
Jackay agreed and Kenneth grabbed the cart of expired food and
headed for the back door. I followed.
Once we were at the dumpster Kenneth began going through the
expired boxes and cans of food, stopping every now and then to
examine a label. He picked up 2 cans of beets and held them up to
me. “Beets are supposed to be good for you, right?”
“Definitely, Kenneth.”
He turned the labels on the cans of beets back to himself and said,
“I remember hating beets. They're nasty. But I did say I need to
make healthier decisions. I'm taking the beets home.”
After a half hour of going through all the expired food on the cart
and tossing a lot of it in the dumpster Kenneth began putting the
food he picked out back on the cart to carry it back inside the
kitchen. He gazed on all the food he had decided on stared at
them deep in thought.
“What's wrong, Kenneth?” I asked once I realized he wasn't quite
ready to go back inside.
He then told me that he just remembered that he had used his
bicycle to get to community service. He would have to carry this
stuff home on his bike and it'd be pretty heavy. Without anymore
thought, he picked up two cans and tossed them over his shoulder
into the dumpster. As he did this he simply said, “Fuck the beets.”
With that toss and those three words Kenneth had given up his
dream of a healthier life. I knew he was going to have as many
shots of wiskey that his body could take that night. Maybe he'd
pick up his dream another day, or maybe it was gone for good.
Dreamers like Kenneth dream of a better future, forget the past,
but can never escape their present. Those are the worst kind of
dreamers.
I often think about Kenneth and wonder if the load that he's
carrying has gotten lighter or heavier with each decision he's
made. I wonder if he's ever given beets a second chance.
After that day I never saw Kenneth again
