The Kitchen

It's Thursday morning. I woke up alone before dawn, then laid around in bed for a bit. Then I got dressed, went for a walk, and went to the kitchen for breakfast. They were a little late opening. I stood outside at 6:30 and watched the natives get restless. The guy in the alley standing next to me was shivering something fierce. He was new to being out and had neither a sleeping bag or a jacket - just a blanket and a sweatshirt. I told him to go to Ritter House - They will give him both a bag and a warm jacket. Martin was going on again about how everybody stereotypes Indians. The man was not raised right and likes to be the victim. I found myself biting back the obnoxious urge to ask him when he immigrated from India. (It would not have gone well.) They opened the door.
Ray came up to me and gave me the morning hug, checked in to see how I'm doing. There was some food that was donated from a party yesterday. I had a tuna sandwich. Jeb was there. I hadn't seen him in a few days - he said he ran out of money so he had to walk and he usually catches the bus. Spoons was in his usual mood. We shared the table and talked. I finished my sandwich, talked to a few people, and went to see if there was any food I wanted to take home for later. There wasn't.I talked to one or two other people, stood around in the alley a bit, and walked home. It was a pleasant morning. I wasn't alone.
When I have been to sick to go get food, the kitchen fed me. When I was so depressed that I didn't want to live and nothing at the store looked appetizing, a warm plate of food served before me was a blessing. When there was no money, there was a bounty of beautiful things to eat. When I was lonely, I was not left alone. When I was sad, nobody thought less of me for crying through breakfast. I am checked on, looked after, and above all else respected.

If there is one thing I've learned, it is this. When interviewing for a potential job, when asked about what kind of support system you have, do NOT cite a soup kitchen as a place you go for human contact. Do not tell the middle class social ersatz elite mental health workers you eat with what amounts to the least of their clients. That it is a home base and social support. That these are people you need. Slapping food on a homeless guy's plate is ennobling. Sitting at the table for comfort and support is degrading. Then, degradation it is. Isolation is as bad as it sounds, and the kitchen teaches an equanimity one cannot learn anywhere else.

I saw some guy on t.v. - can't remember who. Wait, I think it was actually Nigel on So You Think You Can Dance. (Love love love that show!) And Thanksgiving week, he said something to the effect of don't spend the holiday alone. It doesn't matter who you're with - go someplace where there a people. If you are in need of people, go anywhere. And everybody at the kitchen, diners and staff alike, refer to it as home and family. I get to go home and be with my family, every day of the year.