It’s interesting. Dana and I both ran into people from our respective bus rides within a week. Today I walked to the convenience store across from our apartment building because I’m a member of the coffee club- and I’m a writer- so there’s never a moment when I don’t need a cup (Don’t worry. I see how that sounds. I just can’t fix it. The tenth one’s free). I see this guy as I’m leaving and we recognize each other. I remember him from a bus ride a few months before. He asks me how I’ve been. I tell him that I’m great. I’m unemployed for the moment, but I’m writing a ton and my blog is in the infant stages of success. I ask him how he’s doing, and he says, “I don’t want to tell you, because your story is so happy and mine is so sad.” For once in my life, I realized that God was working through me. I didn’t just feel it. I knew it. I said, “I’m unemployed and I’m a blogger. I think I can JUGGLE SOME STUFF AROUND. I have time to listen, but I can totally understand if you don’t want to talk.” He pulled out his Gatorade and sat down.
I don’t want to endanger his privacy, but a long story short is that he’s an Australian chef looking for a job. He was born here, but he hasn’t lived here in a long time. He told me that even driving was different, and I understood that to mean that he thought it was intimidating. Don’t worry, that’s normal. Portland traffic only has two kinds: the ones that are patient and accommodating, and the ones that would run you over even if they saw their mother in the back seat. It seems as if there is no happy medium. His father is dying, and he has trouble keeping his composure.
When I saw his need, I physically reacted. I listened to his story, about being a Chef but because he hasn’t been a Chef in the United States for so very long, people aren’t exactly forthcoming with work. But he’s brilliant. He wants his space to succeed. I looked at him, and I said, “I trust you. I’m going to tell you something I don’t tell very many people (editor’s note: in real life, I mean. When I talk about “work stuff” to my wife, or to anyone else, really, they tend to get a very glazed look in their eyes.*). My web site has had over 2,400 views in the last 30 days. It’s growing at a rate of 50 to 100 viewers every single day. I’ll tell you what: you get a chef gig and I’ll promote you on my web site and direct customers toward your restaurant. If I get famous before you, I’ll take you with me. You get famous before me, you take me with you.” I meant it, too. There are few people in this world as beloved as food columnists.
The light returned to his eyes and he started to smile.
He looked at me, and I said, “do you feel better?” He said, “I feel amazing! Thank you so much!”
He took my cell phone number and promised to call.
I wanted to pray with him, just to get inside his energy space to assure him that no matter how things work out, he’d have the strength and vision to move on. I resisted that temptation because I didn’t want to look like a religious zealot. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have to pray with him to lift his spirits. I didn’t do it with money. I did it with hope.
Amen.
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*I feel Jesus’s pain; It’s that whole “can anything good come out of Nazareth? thing all over again. It’s Haterade, Jesus. Remember, you drink Starbucks!
Jesus: I drink Starbucks now?
Me: Yes, dear one. The Vatican got in on the ground floor with Pepsi. They’re giving it to us at cost.
Jesus: Meaning that I can I have all the bottles of coffee I can drink?! This is GREAT! I can do amazing things so much faster!
Me: Yes, and the plain sweetened coffee is only 50 calories per bottle!
Jesus: But the best part of heaven is that I can have anything I want and never gain any weight. I will always look like the famous artists painted me. All beautiful and gorgeous and white. What a laugh! Don’t they know I was born in the Middle East? I look more like Aziz Ansari!
Me: And you’re just as funny, sir.
Jesus: What’s that “sir” stuff? Haven’t we been friends your entire life? Wasn’t I there when you got drunk and told a deaf guy, “I think it’s so cool that you’re deaf?”
Me: Nevvvvver going to let me forget that one, are you? Did you not see my real intention? He got to sit in on the forefront of cochlear implants. He got to WITNESS HISTORY IN HIS OWN HEAD!
Jesus: I did, and you’re awesome, but I can’t help giving you shit when it’s just so easy.
Me: Thanks, Jesus. I do what I can. Tell the old man I said hello, would you?
Jesus: Mom thinks you’re a bad girl. (editor’s note: I am instantly frozen in terror.)
Me: What is it now?
Jesus: Kidding, she just wants you to send Francis her regards. She loves him like she loves me.
Me: Of course I’ll do that, Jesus. Francis is the best thing that’s happened to the Catholic church in a long time. Have you listened to The Moth? That story about the guy barely out of medical school who saved Mother Theresa from dying eight years before she actually did?
Jesus: You’re kidding ME! I was there!
Me: I keep forgetting that you have this whole timey-wimey thing going on.
Jesus: I keep forgetting that you don’t. I know your whole life. I wish you could see mine.
Me: I could’ve if your father had had one ounce of insight that we were going to want to know everything. We only get the highlights. You’re such a hero, but you’re so much more attractive when you’re flawed. I prefer you not as Jesus Almighty, but Jesus, that dude who tried to learn everything. Literally! Everything! What did you see after you left the temple at 12? Did a spaceship land and little burritos walk out? Did you have to bum enough money for a Middle Eastern breakfast- impossibly strong cigarette, muddy coffee that leaves the top of your hair buzzing, and a newspaper that you probably can’t read- not because you don’t know the language, but you don’t know the slang.
Jesus: True. It’s hard to keep up. But at least I have your blog.
Me: You say that to all the writers.
Jesus: Are you offended?
Me: No, we need you more than most.
(really must buy the url “slangforjesus.com.” It would be a way to categorize slang so that Jesus would know what the fuck we’re talking about when he comes back. Kind of like Urban Dictionary, but for the Savior of the world’s sins. Instead of having $80 used t-shirts, it would have $10 towels monogrammed “I said wash, dude.”)
Stories That Are All True 