One thing I was not planning to do in college was wake up at 6:30 in the morning on my days off from class to handle mystery meat, but many college students, whether it be through honors society, church groups, court orders, or other organizations, will eventually be faced with mandated community service. Yay! When I was told I needed to spend my free time volunteering I complained and worried how it would affect my precious studying (a.k.a. Netflix) time. When walking home one day stressing because the library wasn’t taking volunteers I passed the Charleston Area Senior Center on Meeting and saw a tiny sign for Meals on Wheels having above the door. Within a matter of seconds after walking in and asking the from desk if they were taking volunteers I was signed up and ready to go.
I worked from 8 a.m. to 12 p.m. every Tuesday and Thursday in February, but by far the most memorable day was my first. Before the ink on my sign in sheet was dry I was in the kitchen being draped in an oh-so-sexy plastic apron and hairnet and put on a packing line by our no-nonsense boss with a heart of gold, Miss Laura. Right away, I learned if you step in Miss Laura’s kitchen you ought be ready to work or you get your butt out, quick. I spent about two hours scooping piping hot “meat” entrees and vegetables into little cardboard trays to be packaged and delivered. The task itself was about as boring as can be, but in the company of the hilarious regular workers, time flew by. Once all of the meals were wrapped, counted, and ready to go I was paired with the driver tasked with city deliveries, Sammy, and that’s when my day went from interesting to life-changing.
Sammy has to fall somewhere in his mid-60s to early 70s. He lives for children, is a proud veteran of the 101st airborne division (Charlie company for all you Band of Brothers fans), and always carries a smile in his eyes. Based on his sunny disposition I would have never thought that Sammy had seen trauma in his life, until we headed on our merry way. Sammy took me through the infamous “east end” of the peninsula, where he was raised, dropping meals of at the doors of clients who love and rely on him. As we drove along I saw a drug addict twitching uncontrollably underneath a stop sign, a brutal fight erupt out of nowhere between two men on the side of the street, a crippled homeless man in a wheelchair struggling to make it down the uneven sidewalk, and a man either sleeping or passed out in the gutter. This was not the beautiful and glamorous Charleston that had enticed me to move hundreds of miles from home. This was the real Charleston, someone I am glad I met but hope to never see again. Sammy made it very clear my job was to hand him the meals and keep my butt in the locked van unless he said so. Once we got into relatively calm areas where he had multiple clients he let me deliver meals myself with careful instructions where to go and who I would encounter. My first delivery was to an elderly woman who Sammy warned me would be shy. When she opened the door to a stranger instead of her beloved delivery man she quickly ducked her head and stretched out an open hand for her meal. Even in the brief seconds before she turned away I saw that her face was mottled and misshapen as if she had been brutally beaten in the past. As I handed her the food I thanked her and wished her a good day; she silently shut the door in my face. Most of my interactions with clients went much the same, a blind elderly lady, a woman with the worst case of meth mouth you could imagine, an old man in a wheelchair, all silently taking their food and closing their doors without acknowledging my existence. I don’t blame them at all, they seem to have had lives marked by unimaginable struggle. I don’t come from a wealthy family, pride myself on my work ethic, and seem to be more financially independent than most students, but I still live a life of unimaginable advantage compared to them, and have not earned the privilege of even a simple “hello” from someone who has obviously gone through so much.
When I was told I had to do of community service, I was far from excited. Even though I would never have chosen to spend my mornings packaging and delivering amorphous food stuff, I am so thankful fate brought me to Meals on Wheels. The people I’ve met both inside and outside the kitchen have inspired me and given me the most amazing outlook on life, and I will never be able to thank them enough. If you are looking to volunteer somewhere, whether out of the goodness of your heart or not, please consider going to Meals on Wheels and the Charleston Area Senior Center, I promise you won’t regret it.
