MOVING FORWARD.

“Carmen”* was not very happy when she walked through our doors. Can’t fault her. Most people, when they visit a food pantry for the first time ever, are not overwhelmingly excited to be visiting our fine bastion of compassion, service, and cleanly executed organized chaos for distribution hours. Everyone wants to bring a bag of food to a pantry, no one wants to take one home. It was little after 11AM on a distribution day, and we were hopping with foot traffic for the community closet and pantry in the parking lot. I was stealing a second in the front office, trying to answer the perpetually ringing phone while distracted by several other open tasks. A couple of our incredible volunteers were helping me bang out gift bags for a community event that was starting in less than an hour at the table in the back of the building. A group of volunteers with developmental disabilities was working at the same table to fold some newsletters—they’re great at it, and I was conducting a fragmented conversation with one of the gentlemen from their group on and off while I ran in and out of the room. I was in and out—to the parking lot pod for water bottles, to the pantry for a couple more soaps for the gift bags, to the office for this email that was supposed to be sent yesterday—Our Spring Into Easter Celebration registration card file had not sent over to the printer correctly, so we were a day behind on that. The check-in line had our team of volunteers sorting clothing, directing traffic, manning the produce table, and running items back and forth and in and out of the building. One of our core operations leads had been pulled out by a family emergency for the day, and the office phone was ringing off the hook. And Carmen was at the front window of the office, looking not so happy, and clearly waiting to speak to someone. I gestured wildly for her to wait, trying to scribble down a message from the caller on the phone and finishing up the call. Never a dull moment here at Helping Hand. I walked over to the window to talk to Carmen. It was her first time here. She asked (frustratedly) about our services. I endeavored to explain them to her, convinced she was not listening to me by the way she interrupted me several times. At this point, I hit a state of zen. She was having a rough day. I saw that. I’d had enough rough days of my own. I wasn’t about to jump on the bandwagon, drive the conversation off a cliff, and crash it in a gully of stiff words and barely-sheathed glares. Because the whole machine of volunteers, donors, operations procedures, every bit of energy flying around the Mission was for her, after all. For Carmen. It would be kind of self-defeating if we put so much of our back into spinning the plates we had spinning all over the building in those minutes just to dismiss a person we were here to serve. Especially over something so normal, so understandable, as being frustrated and defensive about needing to come to a food pantry. I decided if I just shut up, Carmen would probably explain what she wanted, and then I would know how to help her get it. Turns out Carmen was a very cool person. She had an immaculate sense of style. She’d done everything she could in her life to be independent, but circumstances out of her control had changed. She had a son, who she clearly adored and listened to, who convinced her to come visit us. She was nervous. I was able to slow down, and explain our food pantry services in a way that was actually useful and made sense to her. “Thank you,” she said simply. She smiled at me. I was stunned at her graciousness—that was the sort of smile I usually reserved for very good friends, and only when they made me very, very happy. Its worth was far greater than the teaspoon of information and patience I’d offered her, a completely uneven trade. Apparently, Carmen was in the top one percentile for radiant, beautifully real smiles. Hers reached up all the way into the depths of her eyes, stunning, whole, and complete. What a cool person. Most people don’t have the nerve to smile like that, to show so much on their face. I immediately registered a new goal for my roster—I wanted to have a smile like that, and I wanted to give it away more freely: to random strangers in offices I don’t want to be at while I’m having a bad day. And the momentary frustration of meeting people where they are, in exchange for real connection with them? That’s a deal I’ll strike any day of the week. Respect to Carmen for doing the same. *Carmen’s name and minor details of this story have been changed to protect confidentiality