There for the Grace of God...you know the rest

I'm no saint. I rarely think of anything or anyone other than myself. Blame it on being an only child, or spending the better part of the past 41 years single and childless. So, during this latest phase of unemployment, I decided I needed not only a place to be a few days a week, but shot of humility so I won't feel sorry for myself all day ... everyday. I started volunteering at a food pantry today. Two days a week, I'll greet people, check IDs, and pack boxes with things like canned sliced peaches, dried plums, spaghetti sauce and apple juice. If you meet the income requirement and have a current photo ID, you qualify for a food box once a month and a daily snack ... and this economy isn't discriminating. Coming through the door were single mothers working just to pay the rent, the homeless guy reeking of pee and booze, young dudes all tatted up, Hispanic families, a cute, goateed, married father of 3 who just got laid off, and a Vet in a wheelchair. They were everybody. They were me. If it weren't for my family and friends, I've been a paycheck away from homeless since I graduated college. And as of right now, I more than qualify for a box of food.
I just completed four months at a seasonal job working a customer service for a company that sells overpriced outdoor clothing. I spent 8 hours a day on the phone listening to the elite complain about how their $500 ski jacket didn't keep them warm enough on the slopes in Aspen, or take 10 minutes to decide between the lavender $100 bunting or the pink $100 bunting for their Baby Jesus. I loathed just about every moment of that job ... dealing with customers and their rudeness, entitlement, and complete lack of perspective. I felt as if I was somehow validating their self-righteous and indignant behavior ... merely by working there. With each swipe of my time card, I was bowing to the alter of consumer capitalism right along with them.
But today was different. Today, I smiled ... a real smile, my smile ... not my fake, retail minimum wage smile. I called people Sir and Ma'am ... not because they were paying with an American Express card, but because I bet they never hear it. Some folks smiled back, some hung their heads in embarrassment or shame, some barely spoke English and some had stories to share ... but everyone left with enough food to make it through at least one more day.