At the Greyhound station for my 2nd and final transfer, I found another restaurant. I decided not to eat the glossy looking hot dog that I got at the previous station and was hoping this restaurant might offer slightly different variety. There was the same greasy and soggy fried chicken, hot dogs, etc. but this restaurant offered cereal! And little cartons of milk! I was browsing the cereal choices when I noticed a little spat between the weary looking cashier with a tattoo on her wrist and this youngish looking guy. He was wearing a black zip-up jacket over a worn purple shirt with jeans and skater looking shoes. The cashier accused him of cutting in line. He replied, politely, "No miss, I was here standing by this person, but I only have one thing. I can wait. It's no problem." She looked exasperated. He waited and said something nice as he paid and left.
That left an impression on me. He looked sort of scraggly to have turned out that polite. I got my cereal and milk and went to my bus.
It was a pleasant surprise to see him on my final bus. I couldn't help but engage him in conversation. "You were very polite to that lady at the cash register." He said something to the effect that he is polite to everyone- it's a core value of his. The interesting thing was that he was not raised in the south. He had no recognizable accent, which to me made his politeness even more extraordinary.
I asked him if he was done with school, as he looked young. It turned out that he was about as old as I am. We both look young. haha. I asked him what he does with his time. He said he mainly goes to concerts. This guy was getting more intriguing with each question. I asked him if he was a stage hand or something. He said no. I asked how he could afford to go just go to concerts for a living. He said he sort of 'worked' the concerts, to which I asked if this 'work' was illegal. He said 'Not technically.'
So at that point I'm totally hooked. I ask, "What kind of stuff do you sell?" He said, "Balloons." I was like, "Er?" He said, "You know, nitrous oxide, like what they give you at the dentist's office. I put it into a balloon and sell the balloons. It's not regulated by the FDA so it's not illegal, the concert people just don't want you to sell it, so you have to be discrete and good at getting out of situations quickly."
I was totally fascinated. Polite Balloon Salesman had spent the better part of 10 years doing this. He said he was good at it. He had been all over. But the even more interesting thing is that he said he probably could've done anything he wanted to in life because he is so smart. Admittedly he spoke very articulately and adeptly about many topics. He said he tested very high on the IQ scale. I believed him.
So why then, was this super-smart, entrepreneurial guy selling nitrous oxide balloons for so long? First of all, he got in trouble with the law when he was younger and wound up with a felony drug selling charge that kept him from getting regular work. Additionally he said he was a perfectionist and was always frustrated when he did things and they weren't up to the standard of what they should be. So he settled for what he knew he was good at. I could relate. Perfectionism paralyzes you and cripples you with fear of failure.
But after 10 years, a crooked nose from being broken so many times by concert guys- among other various injuries- and the thought of being a 40 year old concert balloon salesman, he decided he needed a new path in life. He missed his pitbull named "Skilla," so-named because she had skills at finding where he hid his money (like in a closed drawer) and shredding it. He said he didn't have anyone he could call when he was in trouble and he was lonely. He wanted some sense of stability. That was something I could also relate to. I asked if he could do anything, what would he do? He said he'd like to make furniture- like really intricate wood working.
I listened to him talk about his life for most of the ride to my final destination, the metropolitan city of Inferior State. He was headed farther north. It was obvious he didn't have anyone to really talk to about his life. I remembered a quote that I had written on this little notepad that I keep in my purse. It said something to the effect of, "The life we have lived need not be the only life we have." I tore it off and gave it to him. He said that was like a poem he had written about where he was in life. I asked if he'd read it to me. He said I could just read it from his journal. He let me read how he regretted the way he had lived his life. He was lonely. He didn't have anyone. He had gotten his heart broken. His heart was burdened.
It was sad. I asked if he'd let me pray to let God take some of that burden. He said he had tried to give God a chance back when life was hard and awful things happened in his family, but it didn't work. Now he was a Buddhist. (As an aside I am amazed at how convenient Buddhism appears to Western people dissatisfied with the idea of God, however I don't think most people really even know what Buddhism is really about. I barely get it after spending hours with the monks!)
The bus had almost reached my final stop and Polite Balloon Salesman decidedly did not want prayer. It was too painful to ask God to do anything, even if I was asking from my own faith. I said, "Well, can I at least give you a hug?" He said he'd take a hug. So I wrapped my arms around him and let them linger there as I said, "Your life matters. You have a purpose. You are smart and you are loved."
I have his info to be friends on Facebook. He is about to start a job at the mall as the manager of a hat store and he is excited to have stable work and benefits. And also to get to spend time with Skilla. I am hoping to keep in touch with him.
At the bus station where I waited for my ride I reflected about starting a new year on a bus. I thought about how uncertain my life still is and how transient I've been. And broke. I would appear to my professional peers as a loser, I suppose. Why can't I get my life together? But then I thought about the Kingdom. What does Jesus value? Stability? Self-sufficiency? A nice title?
No, his treasures are those broken people on that bus. He values the established people in their nice offices too, but those people probably wouldn't admit they need him. But those people on that bus were beyond the pride of trying to conceal their desperation. While most people on the Metro in their suits and ties and heels try to avoid eye contact and prefer not to give you the time of day, as engrossed as they are in their newspapers, novels, and iPods, people on the Greyhound have all day. DAYS perhaps to get where they're going. Nobody thinks they're important. And they talk to you.
So perhaps I was among the unimportant on New Year's rather than recovering from some awesome party with fancy alcohol and well-dressed people of some status. But I have to think that I was with the important people to Jesus, and that he arranged for me to meet the ones that needed some encouragement to start their new year.
The last person I met was a very thin, middle-aged woman who was the janitor. She asked me if I was done with my juice bottle, which I wasn't. I asked her how her new year was going. She said, "Oh, much better than last year!" This year she was happy to have a job- something she did not have for the past 2 years. She was glad to mop the floor around me.
I do not know where this year will take me- or how I will travel wherever it is I will go. But what I do know is that there are people who need to encounter the love of God wherever I am.
BEAUTIFUL
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