This is not a piece of poetry, but a piece of writing from a class that I am currently taking. We were told to think about a time when we were of service to another person. The story is about my job as a server at a restaurant and how it relates to service, charity and virtue, as the class is reflection of our community service. Being that this job is based around serving others, there is no doubt that 'service' in the very literal sense is a part of my job. But I thought of a time when 'service' signified giving my time and effort to another human being.
This story emulates my mother's age old saying "Do the right thing." It answers the question of why I do service and why I do things that I don't necessarily have to do. Let us not question what we do for the sake of it being a bother, but because it helps another people that we have no obligation or responsibility for. Let us not have just sympathy, but compassion for another human life and take a little time out of ours to make a difference in theirs. And let us never hesitate to do the Right Thing.
I have performed service for many years, even before entering college. I possessed the capacity and compassion to help others. Countless hours have been spent tutoring younger students, spending time with the elderly, feeding those who are hungry, watching children through a church program, and the list goes on. After reading about philanthropy and charity and how they have both been defined through time, societies, religions, and other various categories, I would not say that they are one in the same. While philanthropy takes private initiatives for public good, charity is the giving of goods, time, or money to those in need. Both are to improve someone’s quality of life.
Charity is seen as some as virtue, which I believe is true. Because of the modernization of society, the essence of virtue has to some extent been less of an attribute to charity. Some see charity as one person having pity on another, and therefore performing a service to them. Others can see charity as someone less fortunate asking for help and others being forced to do so. If I had to categorize the service which I do, I would place it under charity. With that being said, I do not see the service that I do as charity or philanthropy. Rather, as my mother would say, I do service because it is “the right thing.” I do not perform service as a means of redemption because I have done wrong in the past and hope to make up for it, nor is it out of pity for another person. I do service because I know that helping others is the only way that humans can coexist and progress in life.
I could expand on the aforementioned list of service that I have performed for others as a way to describe how I have been of service to others, but I prefer to describe a single experience. I work in a buffet that is located in a casino. People who come in are sometimes elated because of a large sum of money that they have won, or can be a complete wreck because they have bet away their life savings along with all of their family’s assets (no, I’m not kidding). People of many different levels of ability come into the buffet as well. There was a man who was middle aged who came into the buffet one Wednesday with another younger man in a motorized wheel chair. The man was clearly physically impaired and had limited mobility of his arms and legs, hence the automatic chair. Wednesday’s are the busiest day of the week at the buffet (Senior Citizen Special… You could imagine how that is), this being the reason that the men are quickly sat and told to wait for their server, as if they were a bother to the hostess who had to clear a table for them to sit at.
Their server was less than happy to serve them, as it took longer than usual to get a drink order from the man in the wheel chair. The server came back mumbling and complaining of how they were “going to take up time and money by sitting at their table forever” since the man in the wheelchair was unable to feed himself. I told my coworker to let me have the table, and that she could have one of my tables when it opened up (we all had full sections in the restaurant), so that she would be less stressed (and the rest of the workers and myself didn’t have to listen to her incessant complaints). I brought them over the drinks that they had ordered, introduced myself with a smile, and told them that I would be serving them. The man who walked in pulled me aside.
“I’m sorry that you had to go out of your way for us.” The man said to me. “This happens a lot. My brother isn’t mentally disabled, but people always think he is. He just takes a little longer than normal, and people get uncomfortable around him.”
I realized at that moment that both of them knew what exchange happened between my coworker and I. “Don’t you worry about it” I said, “you take all the time you need. If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Thank you” he responded. He sat back down at the table. His brother mumbled something. I didn’t say anything because I thought it was probably none of my business. Then his brother looked up “He says ‘Thank you’. My brother’s name is Phil, and I’m Jim.”
“It’s nice to meet you both” I responded. I smiled and walked away. I continued to check up on them, asking if they needed anything, brought them extra napkins, as I do with any table that I serve. It was clear that Jim and Phil had a wonderful love and bond with one another. Jim never left his brother’s side, taking him up to the buffet from time to time to get something else to eat. Phil only ate one thing at a time, so getting a full plate wasn’t very practical. Jim would alternate between feeding himself and Phil every few bites, and giving Phil some juice or water. I went up to the table nearing the end of their main courses and asked if they would like coffee or milk with dessert. They Jim politely declined and asked about my life- what I was going to school for and such.
As I was explaining, the straw Phil was drinking out of came out of his mouth. His brother didn’t see it because it was on the opposite side of his body. At first, I wasn’t sure what I should do- tell Jim, ignore it, or help Phil get the straw back into his mouth. Phil looked at me. It wasn’t a helpless look, but one as if he was trying to tell me something. I touched the cup that was at the side of the wheelchair. It was empty. “Would you like more juice, Phil?” I asked. His face lit up as he began to smile and his eyes widened as he mumbled again, but this time I understood “Apple juice, right?” Phil’s head began to shake rapidly as the smile stayed on his face. I went and got the juice, and put the cup back in the holder on the wheel chair and put the elongated straw in the cup. I smiled and looked at Jim. “Thank you so much” he said. I looked at Phil, still bent over from situating the cup. Phil looked at me and smiled, “Thank you” me mumbled, and I put the straw in Phil’s mouth so that he could drink.
When Phil and Jim were done, I walked from the back kitchen to say goodbye to them and wish them luck on the machines in the casino. Jim shook my hand, “Oh, thanks, but we just come here for the food. We’re just on our way home. Thank you so much… For everything” I smiled as I nodded and said “Anytime”. Phil spoke up, and said “Thank you” as loudly as he could speak, his face still stuck in a smile. “You really made his day” Jim said. I leaned over, took one of Phil’s hands in both of mine and said “You’re very welcome; you come back anytime you want”
Jim and Phil were gone, and I was back to my regular routine of being looked over by my customers, spoken at instead of being spoken with, and holding myself back from smacking the old ladies who think I’m not going to notice them stuffing three plates worth of cookies and cake into their mothball-infested purses. But all in all, I was okay with it, because I knew Phil and Jim were going to have a good day, and that Phil was actually smiling.
It is clear that I served Jim and Phil, and even my annoying coworker that day. I went out of my way to help them, to serve them. What may not be so clear, though, is that Jim and Phil served me. They gave me the opportunity to get to know them and see them as people, not just as customers. They left a lasting impression on me, one that I will never forget and will carry with me so that the next time when I see someone who needs someone to talk to, or help, I can be the one to be there. Jim served me by accepting my offer to help, without angst or bitterness, but with humble graciousness. I was humbled and allowed to reflect on as much as I hated my job, I was lucky enough to be able to be there: walking, talking, and feeding myself. I served them, but they did such a service to me, probably without intention. I do not consider this an act of charity by contemporary means, but an act of charity because it was out of love. Just because I am receiving money and a paycheck by serving them doesn’t negate the fact that service was performed.
At the end of the day, I didn’t have to switch tables with my coworker, or help Jim, or speak to Phil. I performed an action that was outside of my responsibilities as a server not because I wanted to relieve anyone of their responsibility or get extra tip money (Jim left me $15, which is a pretty penny when the norm is a table of 5 leaving you 3 bucks.) I didn’t even do it because it was the “Christian” thing to do and because God would be happy with me if I did. I simply did it because of my mother’s words: “Do the right thing” I know that no matter where I go or what I do, that the “right” thing may not always be the easiest thing to do. It may take up time and even a little bit of money (when someone on the train asks me for some spare change), but in the end, I know that it will be the best thing, and in the interest of a human life, that life not necessarily being my own.
But don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. I still get tired of my job at times and when a customer is hounding me for more napkins as if it’s a state of emergency, I still respond with my mother’s other words, “I’m dancing as fast as I can.”
I love you, Mommy. I always want to make you proud.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
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