Our Community, Our Justice: Reminder Moments; Transcend the Cubicle

Whenever someone thinks of a noble career that allows you to give back to the community and improve the conditions of society, the non-profit sector is often the first field that comes to mind. Some people may even envision non-profit employees walking down the most impoverished streets in the country to work hands-on with their target populations. But that is merely a half truth. A quick internship with just about any non-profit would acquaint you with the realities of the office setting that dominates every American industry.

But people don’t pursue a career in non-profits for the valor of having their own cubicle and unlimited sticky notes; it’s because of the affected segments of society that may not be getting enough help from the government. That is precisely the reason that non-profit employees enter the industry with an unrivaled enthusiasm and optimistic outlook. Unfortunately, some of us may fall victim to office-atrophy and forget why in the world we’re subjecting our eyes to prolonged staring contests with computer monitors (the computer typically wins, by the way).

I’d like to think that I’m too young and new to the field to fall victim to the office plague. But age isn’t the only thing that keeps me riled up, or a veteran disengaged with the true purpose of non-profits; it is the moments (or lack thereof) that we share with everyday people that keeps us coming to work with pep in our step or callous on our kneecaps from crawling to the desk. These moments, or what I would like to call ‘reminder moments,’ are so powerful that they can recapture you into the non-profit world for decades at a time.

Last month, I had one of those reminder moments when I visited Cameron Community Ministries Food Pantry here in Rochester. As a Hunger Advocate for Foodlink, one of the projects that I am currently working on is a compilation of testimonials and narratives from individuals and families who benefit from our foods that are served at one of our nearly 450 partner agencies. I plan on including some of the narratives in our newsletter, blog, and potentially, local commercials. Cameron seemed like an ideal place to start. After nearly 30 years of serving needy families, Cameron has established itself as a staple in the community.

When I showed up, there were people of all sizes, shapes, colors and ages waiting on a long line at the entrance. Some people were there with toddlers, some were married elderly couples, some were disabled and wheelchair bound, and others were middle aged with war veterans’ attire — goes to show the many faces of domestic hunger in our own backyard. But of all the different people on the soup line, there was one ordinary looking man who captured my attention. He saw me speaking with people about my project and patiently waited for me to approach him.

“I heard your spiel. Well, I’m probably who you’re looking for if you need a good story.”
The journalist inside of me said “perfect, this guy is going to give me golden quotes that will let the story write itself,” while the non-profit employee in me said “this is a perfect opportunity to see how someone ideally benefits from our services at the ground level.” But his story was far greater than what journalism and/or non-profits can grasp; it was something so powerful that it put a weigh on my heart and spirits.

“I’m 40 years-old in an 80 year-old body,” were the first words he used to describe himself. “My bones are deteriorating and doctors doubt if I’ll live much longer.” At 6”5’ and with a set of broad shoulders, he had a physical presence that was contradicted by an aura of defeat and a completely toothless grill. He told me that he always dreamed of being in the NFL, but his aspirations were squashed when he suffered from a serious knee injury while he was playing as a star center in high school. Ever since that day, his knees have gradually developed arthritis so intense that he has needed multiple recurring surgeries.

But the collapse of his NFL dreams are the least of his problems. The gentleman claims that he’s been in over 12 car accidents, some purposely suicide attempts after his painful divorce eight years ago. One of those accidents bruised his lungs and damaged his rib cage. His divorce enraged him so much that he nearly went to prison for attempting to murder his ex-wife and mother-in-law.

That morning was his first day on the soup line. “I’m here because I ran out of food,” he said. “What the hell do they expect me to do with disability and welfare checks? They’re quite measly. I can’t work because my body’s shot.” When I asked him if he was accepting Food Stamps/SNAP, he immediately responded “What, $200?” he laughed. “I go through that in coffee. And I do make a pretty damn good coffee by the way. That’s one thing I’m really proud of.”

After speaking with him for a good while, I almost didn’t want to go back to the office. I never met the man, but I was nervous about him going back to an empty home and an empty fridge. If my job is to help people like him, I’d much rather be out there with him.

But that’s when I realized that my reminder moment had everything to do with what I do from my cubicle. Though I may not be able to physically be with every person, I can help every person. If I ever felt lethargic at work, he certainly woke me up and reenergized me to give everything my all — from writing a grant to giving a PowerPoint presentation on hunger. I can only hope that I will run into him again someday and he’ll be smiling with a mouth full of teeth, a beautiful wife, and a kid sitting on daddy’s shoulders.

So my charge to all office employees is to get out of the cave and speak to one of your beneficiaries. It is their narratives that constantly reminds us why we subject ourselves to insulated office air and the constant sound of printers.