The Man on the Side of the Highway

So yesterday after running a bunch of bill-payment errands, I stopped at this Christian-run thrift shop I'd never been to before.

It was the usual thing --- mostly clothing for women and children, used Harlequin and Silhouette paperback romances, weird knickknacks and old dishes and glassware that looked like they'd been through the dishwasher too many times without one of those detergents that always remove "spots."

There also was an area stocked with canned goods and other items which was labeled "Food Pantry." Several women with PHDs (Pentecostal Hairdos in these parts) were working there and humming along to some kind of gospel music coming from a battered CD player.

While I was perusing a copy of a book called "Alcoholics Anonymous Explained: The Later Years" (there was no copy of "The Earlier Years" on the rack), the director of the store opened her office door and escorted a young woman, weeping with grateful tears, over to the Food Pantry.

The store director, who had Baptist Big Hair (different from PHDs because of the quantities of Silvernuke hairspray involved) looked around the store and focused her eyes on me.

"Can I help you, sir?" her voice boomed across the store.

I looked around. I was the only man in the store. She walked over to me, saw the book in my hands, and motioned for me to come into her office.

"We can talk more privately in here," she said. I started to put the book back on the shelf but she said, "You can bring that with you, sir."

I followed her in and she pulled out an application form from her desk.

"Name?" She said, her pen poised.

I gave her my name and then said, "I'm not here asking for help."

"It's OK, hon-eee." she said, putting her pen down and reaching across the desk to grab and hold tightly to my hand. "God understands your needs."

My needs? If God understood my needs right at that moment, God would make that woman relax her bonecrushing hold on my hand.

"You don't understand," I said. "I'm just here looking and ---"

"And I see you've found it," she said, pointing to the AA book. "God helps us when we're struggling."

I was starting struggle loose from her grasp. I noticed a Broadway playbill on the shelves behind her. I decided to let my gay sense of self-preservation kick in.

"Oh, I see you've been to see 'Wicked!'" I said. I gestured desperately with my eyes at the playbill --- she frowned and turned to look over her shoulder.

"Yes," she said. "My son is starring in it." She relaxed and I yanked my hand free.

"Starring in it? Really? How cool!" I said. "Which part is he playing, Elphaba or Glinda?"

That rattled her.

"He's not really starring in it," she said, frowning in a way that made her Baptist big hair look even bigger and stiffer. "He plays several parts."

"But he SEEMS like he's starring," I said. "I know how that is. I have a son who's trying to be an actor. Whenever I see him in a play, it always seems like he's the most important character, even if he's just holding a spear."

She stared blankly at me for a moment and then put on her smile again.

"What DID you come in here for today, hon-eee?"

"Um ..." I stammered. "Uh, God wants me to buy this book, I guess."

She frowned.

"Hardbacks are fifty cents," she said. "If that's all, are you getting enough to eat?"

My stomach growled. I had skipped breakfast that morning, mainly because I was out of milk for my Cheerios.

"Well, actually, I was just going to see about getting some milk and ..."

"We don't have milk here, hon-eee," she said. "The deep freezer broke down. But you can have whatever else we have. LE-THA!"

When she bellowed, an elderly woman shuffled into the office.

"LETHA, I WANT YOU TO FILL UP SOME FOOD BAGS FOR THIS GENTLEMAN!" Obviously deaf --- although I don't know whether she started out that way or lost her hearing from having the store director yell at her, Letha smiled and shuffled off and started putting canned goods in plastic bags and loading them into a grocery cart.

"Ma'am," I said. "I didn't come here for a handout, I just came in here because I'd never been here before and was curious and ..."

"God brought you here, hon-eee," she said. "And before I let you go, I want you to pray with me." And before I could say yes or no or "holy shit", she started in a'praying --- praying for the love of God, for the beautiful day, for the shipment of Tampons that someone had donated that morning. She gave thanks for God leading me to their thrift store and for the person who wrote the second part of the book about Alcoholics Anonymous and for me and the great things that God wanted me to do and just about anything that could be squeezed into a five minute prayer delivered faster than a speeding bullet.

When she was done, she got up and walked me to the door. Letha, grinning, gave me a grocery cart with six bags full of food. Grateful that I was going to be allowed to leave, I took the bags out to my car and drove away as fast as I could drive. Halfway home, I realized I hadn't paid for the book. Nor had I brought it with me.

On the way home, I passed a man standing on the side of the road. He had a dufflebag beside him and was holding a sign:

"HOMELESS AND OUT OF WORK. WILL WORK FOR FOOD OR LODGING."

I drove past him, wondering if I should pick him up and drive him back to the thrift store. I wondered about it all the way home.

The bags contained cans of peas, corn, green beans, chicken noodle soup, fruit salad, Dinty Moore beef stew, Vienna sausages, a couple of loaves of bread, some packaged bologna, a can of coffee, and toilet paper, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and a bag of potatoes. All stuff I had. When I unpacked it and put it away, I couldn't get my pantry doors closed.

I sat down and thought about the man on the side of the road. I looked at the overstuffed pantry in my kitchen.

And then I remembered I forgot to buy milk.

I got up, started to put on my coat and then stopped.

I went into the kitchen and got out a loaf of bread. I opened the bologna and made two sandwiches. I opened the peanut butter and got out a jar of jelly I already had. I made four sandwiches, wrapped them in napkins and then put them and the rest of the bologna, the peanut butter and the bread into a plastic bag, along with an extra table knife. I got out a couple of Diet Cokes from my refrigerator and put them in the bag. I got the toilet paper, the deodorant, and the toothpaste and toothbrush and tossed them in. I found a couple of apples and added them as well.

I then was able to shut the doors to my pantry.

I got in the car and drove back to where I saw the man on the side of the road. When I spotted him again, still holding his sign, I did a quick U-turn and drove up to him. I handed him the bag of food and said, "Here. Someone gave me some extra today. You take it."

He looked inside the bag and said, "Thank you, bud. This is the first food I've had today."

He looked down the highway in the direction of The Food Pantry, about three miles down.

"I stopped at this thrift store down there today," he said. "The lady there told me I should leave, because they didn't allow loitering."

I wished him luck and drove away. I got home and remembered that I forgot the milk. Again.