At least I was riding the crest of the rush hour traffic as I drove through the heart of downtown in my sister's Jeep with the spare key to my truck.

She was crying when she called and surprisingly I didn't think the worst had happened. Not that I would have actually thought the worst, it would have stopped at thinking my truck had been transformed into a pile of broken plastic, shattered glass and twisted metal.

I got a little irritated when I found out that she had merely left the truck running with the key lock inside. I was glad she couldn't see my reaction over the phone. She was at the church where they serve the less fortunate an evening meal. The church we go to takes charge of one meal every three months and this time she was running it. Locking the key in the truck didn't warrant tears, in my book.

I beat most of the traffic and wondered how many meat loafs or trays of mashed potatoes I would find sitting in the truck. I thought "Definitely, nothing to get upset over," I thought as I noticed there was nothing left in the truck other than my other sister's bag.

It was my first time being there, partly because I work my second job on Thursday night. The only clue I had as to where to go was where she had parked the truck, and as I approached the function hall part of the church, one of the guys smoking said "All the way up the stairs," as I reached for the door.

Up the stairs I entered a large function room arranged with twelve or more tables. The place was dim. The unfinished tongue and grove paneled walls and ceiling meet at an angle, I assumed caused by the slopping roof. It had a dingy summer camp cabin feel about it.

I cut through the tables to get to the kitchen. I figured since I was there that I might as well help and also the traffic wouldn't have been as kind on my return trip.

My mom, two of my sisters, an older couple from church and the pastor where the folks I knew. Chris, Mike, Debbie and three other folks where the people I didn't know. Chris was a young guy fulfilling a need to do community service; the others where with the organization that helps the less fortunate.

I was leaning against an unused counter next to my sister who called, we were waiting for meat loafs to heat through which would have happened a lot sooner if some helpful soul hadn't shut the ovens off. We watched as one person was placing a slice of pound cake into a little paper tray which was then passed to the person ladling on the strawberry mix and then got passed to the person with the Cool Whip.

We watched the preacher run his latex gloved finger around the edge of the recently emptied tub of Cool Whip. He was trying his best to be helpful, and the best he could do was to take care of the empty food containers; he gave up and stood next to me.


I've been in these situations before and I know that sometimes the best help you can offer is to just get out of the damn way. My mom came over and started offering me jobs. I told her "I'm waiting to get upgraded to just standing around and eating Cool Whip." It got a laugh but not from my mom.

About five minutes later, it was decided that everything was hot enough to serve. I literally rolled up my selves. I found the box of gloves that I noticed everyone was wearing and watched as those who had done this before took to their stations. I stepped up to the pot without a person and ended up spooning out the second vegetable.

Locations and people can change but the feeling of it all usually doesn't. That feeling that most have just given up, that mild sense of despair, an air that people are just waiting for an end, going through the motions of fighting a battle you know you won't win.

For a moment I reflected on the luxury of a proper diner plate with utensils made of metal


...I've had enough of this story.