Tales from the Coffee Kiosk
I'm not really sure why I stopped writing over this quarter. It certainly wasn't for a lack of material; oh, the stories I could tell of crazy cat women, meeting Tony Blair, learning about the daily life of the homeless, falling out of windows in an attempt to rescue a cat(no, I am not in the "crazy cat women" category!), and so much more.... I will begin, however, with a story that moved me deeply of a homeless man name John.
I now work at a coffee kiosk outside of a public library. I was previously unaware of the centrality of a public library in the lives of many people: it is used it as a home, a warm, resting place, and a community center. The first thing that I noticed about John was that his nose had a black, cancerous looking growth spreading across it. Polite and quiet, his body held the posture of weathered survival. He would pay with change for a cup of coffee once a day. Apparently, he had lived in the apartments behind the library, living off of his social security check until the always-increasing rent forced him out on the streets, where he used his social security check to try to make food last for the month.
One day, one of our "dailies", a lawyer who worked across the street, began to slip us money for John so that he could have something to eat and drink when his social security ran out for the month. I felt sick to my stomach when one afternoon John came out of the library, pondering the kiosk's food selection, and decided on a scone for dinner because he felt that it would be the most filling. The most astonishing thing, however, was John's presence when he learned of his "special funds" we kept stashed in the cash register. His body, once bent over, stood straighter, his shoulders were back, he looked me in the eye, and would strike up a conversation with me. I was astonished at this change and mused over its ramifications with my boss.
"I think he felt that someone actually cared about him, and that made the difference, " he said. My boss, who seems to be part business owner, part counselor, part social worker for all the people who come into his coffee zone, took it upon himself to locate a place where John could have a bed for awhile. It warms my heart to see John come visit now after a good night's sleep in a warm place. "I won't be coming in tomorrow morning, " he told me the other day, "I think I'm going to relax and sleep in tomorrow!" What a potent reminder of the transformative power of love in action!
I now work at a coffee kiosk outside of a public library. I was previously unaware of the centrality of a public library in the lives of many people: it is used it as a home, a warm, resting place, and a community center. The first thing that I noticed about John was that his nose had a black, cancerous looking growth spreading across it. Polite and quiet, his body held the posture of weathered survival. He would pay with change for a cup of coffee once a day. Apparently, he had lived in the apartments behind the library, living off of his social security check until the always-increasing rent forced him out on the streets, where he used his social security check to try to make food last for the month.
One day, one of our "dailies", a lawyer who worked across the street, began to slip us money for John so that he could have something to eat and drink when his social security ran out for the month. I felt sick to my stomach when one afternoon John came out of the library, pondering the kiosk's food selection, and decided on a scone for dinner because he felt that it would be the most filling. The most astonishing thing, however, was John's presence when he learned of his "special funds" we kept stashed in the cash register. His body, once bent over, stood straighter, his shoulders were back, he looked me in the eye, and would strike up a conversation with me. I was astonished at this change and mused over its ramifications with my boss.
"I think he felt that someone actually cared about him, and that made the difference, " he said. My boss, who seems to be part business owner, part counselor, part social worker for all the people who come into his coffee zone, took it upon himself to locate a place where John could have a bed for awhile. It warms my heart to see John come visit now after a good night's sleep in a warm place. "I won't be coming in tomorrow morning, " he told me the other day, "I think I'm going to relax and sleep in tomorrow!" What a potent reminder of the transformative power of love in action!
posted by Melody at
5:09 PM
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