I decided to go to Podunk Bakery, downtown on Main Street, for a treat. Surely, going to the DMV for any reason justifies a treat, afterward. That's my thinking, anyway.
The gentleman who runs the bakery is probably in his late forties, affable, and outgoing. He is the type of person who stands out in a crowd. He's an extrovert; talkative, cheerfully sharing his day with anyone who will listen.
Yet, I almost missed what happened....
After much consideration, I decided on the pink flower with the blue middle.....a frosted sugar cookie, of course. Actually, I didn't decide, really. I took one of each: pink with blue center, and blue with pink center. I was in the DMV for a long time, at least two cookies' worth.
The bakery has old-fashioned, claw-foot oak tables and high back chairs. I settled in at the table by the front window, so I could watch people walk by. The daily newspaper had been conveniently left on the table, so I glanced at that, too.
There was only one other customer in the bakery, an older gentleman enjoying a cup of coffee. Probably on a break from one of the nearby businesses, I'm guessing. So it was quiet in the bakery. Very quiet.
A woman walked by with her four children. They were a handful and she was not able to keep up with their antics. It was as if they were running down the street and she was trying to catch them. Fortunately, she did catch them at the street corner. Regrouped, they crossed the street holding each others' hands.
And then a man walked by, turned, and came into the bakery. I didn't really notice all that much about him except for his hair. He had jet black, wild hair. It was long, probably shoulder-length, but it was wild and stuck out rather than lying on his shoulders.
I looked down at the paper in front of me and wondered what he would buy. From his clothing, it didn't look like he had very much money to spend. His clothes were wrinkled, and plain; nondescript, actually. He wasn't dirty, but he wasn't clean, either.
I heard the owner tell him what kind of bagels were left and, in a soft voice, I heard him ask the owner if there was any cream cheese left. As he walked out of the bakery with his bag and a bottle of water, I realized that he hadn't paid for anything.
He sat down on the bench in front of the bakery, carefully opened his bag and spread out the contents. He used the plastic knife he was given to split the bagel in half, and then to spread the cream cheese on it. Then he opened the bottle of water and took a long sip before replacing the cap carefully.
I noticed his hands: he had long, slim fingers. From his actions, I could tell that he had very good dexterity. His hands were clean, too. And I looked more closely at his clothing and the way he wore it. Probably, at some point, he was a businessman around here....somewhere. And, at another point, that business failed, or didn't need him anymore.
As I pondered what I had just witnessed, I wondered how often things like that happen. No, not the loss of work, that happens daily. Or the wrinkled, well-worn clothing. That happens, too. No, I wondered about the kindness. And the quiet and gentle way that the kindness was transacted.
Every day, there are countless numbers of people who go without food. And every day, somewhere, there is someone who quietly, and without public fanfare, gives a “customer” a bagel, cream cheese, and a bottle of water.
And it renews my belief that, no matter what happens, we can overcome it.
No comments:
Post a Comment