The strangest part of the whole business was that I didn't feel anything.
Another man walked up and I handed out another tray.
Some of them smiled and said "bless you." Others said "thanks." Most just took the trays without saying anything.
I looked at the stuff we were giving them: a sort of shapeless macaroni in spaghetti sauce with some vegetables. The people at the other tables were serving salad, bananas and cookies.
From time to time, I felt like asking the other volunteers why they were doing this. I wondered why I was doing this.
The company I was working at had a quarterly goal that three quarters of the employees spend 8 hours in some form of community service. If the employees meet that goal, there would be a quarterly bonus – essentially a cash incentive to take part.
Money has never been a good motivator for me. All other things being equal, money is more like a gauge of what people think of me. A bit extra might make more comfortable, but it really would not make a difference in my life.
I would like to think that I'm helping people, but I simply felt like I was handing out trays. As I watched the men eating, I knew that, after this was done, they would be back onto the freezing streets. This was but a short respite for them from the realities of life. Giving them a tray of food wasn't going to change that.
I guess it did give me a little more insight into their situation. At the time all I thought was "I don't know squat." I don't know what it's like to live on the street, I don't know what the freezing cold is like or what these people want. I'm just handing out trays.
There was a woman helping me hand out trays. She asked people how they were doing and the like. The men, for it was mostly men, responded well to her. She was very good about getting the trays to me to hand out to the people in line. In situations where I'm standing right next to a person that's much better than me, I felt useless. Before things had started up, she had mentioned that she was here as part of a church group.
I handed out another tray.
I still didn't know why I was there.
There were all kinds of people in line. There were older ones and younger ones. There were black people and Hispanic people and white people. There was one guy who had a book on computers. One or two skipped the hot portion of the meal and just got the rest.
I had been afraid that things would drag by, but time went pretty quickly. When we were finished we had served over 280 people. The people at the soup kitchen thanked us for helping out. I didn't feel like I had helped anyone.
As I drove back home with my usual lack of directional ability I wondered what I had expected or hoped for. I guess I had expected something: empathy? Understanding? Pity? Self-righteousness? The one thing I hadn't expected was what I felt: nothing.