Whatever: Being Poor

When I was working at the shelter I was surprised that sometimes clients didn’t say thank you when we took them to the food closet. I was surprised when they tried to grab an extra bottle of shampoo. I expected gratitude.

I was a good person helping out people, that’s what I thought. I felt moral for working in the shelter because a lot of people don’t want to work in shelters. I felt righteous for saying to myself, “These clients are human beings.” I felt smug because I stayed late to staff the crisis line instead of going home to my crisis-free life.

I saw the error of my ways after the first month of working there but it was a month too long. After that it was easy to spot the other do-gooder volunteers with the beatific smile that only experience can wipe off of your face.

I learned that you either help people or you don’t. Either we all deserve food and shelter or none of us do.

That first month I opened the food closet with a fluorish, I handed them tampons like they were a gift. I beamed when they thanked me.

I’m ashamed of that now.

My co-workers set me a good example. I saw that when you hand someone something they need, you do it without fanfare. You hand a woman menstrual pads the same way you would hand your best friend a pen. It’s not about you, it’s not about them; you see a need and if you can, you fill it.

Morality abhors a vacuum.

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