I
arranged to meet with Jeremy at the Mission’s office to get a crash orientation
and signed the volunteer paperwork. As I
neared the office using my GPS guide, I almost hesitated to proceed as I neared
a one-story old building with the stucco barely clinging to the façade. Surrounding it was a dilapidated neighborhood
with wrought iron bars on all the windows and doors. I parked at an almost empty lot next to an
old van that made me conjure up images of kidnapping or maybe drug
deal-gone-bad. I gingerly opened my car
door and looked around to see if I was being observed but all I saw was a
construction worker in his utility truck with his cell phone stuck to his ear and his other hand animatedly waving in the air like a conductor. I felt a gust of wind that stirred up dust
and scraps of paper trash in a mini twister. All I could think of was how I needed the volunteer work and I was
running out of time and wondering if I was at the right address. I looked the storefront up for the address
and found it on the glass door with the Mission’s name and office hours. As I pushed the door, I found a sparsely
furnished office and a tall, skinny man at the far corner looking at his
computer. He did not look up even with
the door opening with a crunch that dragged on the concrete floor. But as he finally pried his eyes from the
computer, he smiled brightly and got up to meet me at the door where I stood
immobile and at the last instant, pasted a smile. I was surprised at his friendliness and he
covered the orientation with ease and had me fill out paperwork. At that moment, the door opened and an
elderly with her front wheel walker entered.
Jeremy greeted her with warm familiarity and told her to help herself
with whatever was on the basket in the back office. He then pointed out to me that she was one of
the ‘regulars.’ Jeremy gave me the
address where my volunteer work was going to take place and to call whenever I
want to arrange my schedule. I shook
hands with him and told him I would like to be part of the Mission and hope to volunteer more.
My
volunteer work was at the Mission’s thrift shop located at a strip mall. I felt I was in a foreign land. Next door to the right of the shop was a shabby coin-operated laundry and a nail salon; to the left was a no-name furniture store with music blasting, a
bargain variety store, and a Mexican supermarket. I arrived early but meanwhile, I waited in my
car with my doors locked. When I finally
walked in after the door opened, I was met by Ernie who showed me the place and
introduced me to the other workers as they filed one by one to clock in. I was astounded at the cheeriness and the “God
bless you” greetings that went around freely. I
was told to break for ten minutes at 1100 and at 1500 and to lunch at 1300 for
30 minutes. I was given a task to sort
all the shoes on top of the rows of clothes racks. I rolled up my sleeves and went to the task
and as I started sorting the first row of strewn shoes, my first thought was, “who
would want to buy these old, worn, and smelly shoes?” Most of the clothes were outdated and some
were so worn that I would not even think of donating or passing on for someone’s use. Yet, I had to remind myself why I was there
to begin with. As people started to come
through the door, I realized the diversity of the community the thrift store
served. I saw children that were just as
enthusiastic about a used toy as they would a new toy. Mothers with babies or toddlers on their hip
and two or three little ones tagging along—one older child not even 7 or 8-yrs
old holding the other siblings’ hands. Every
now and then, you would hear announcements overhead, pausing the Christian upbeat
songs, calling parents' attention to make sure the children are watched and kept close for their
safety. Once, I answered to an overhead
announcement for a volunteer to help with ‘donations.’ It was to help an old gentleman in his 70’s who
had some boxes in his truck. I followed
him with my cart and he went on to explain why he could not carry his donations
because of a tumor on his left groin. Being
the nurse that I am, without explaining that I was one, I found it interesting
how he easily trusted me with his health information. He went on to explain that he frequented
Mexico for treatment of his tumor as he could not afford the health care and
besides, he did not ascribe to the physician’s radical treatment recommendations. He also mentioned meeting many foreign
patients from Canada, Germany, Poland, China, including the US receiving
treatments in Mexico. It made me think
quite a bit about where our health care system is headed. Another elderly lady who I helped carry out
her purchases talked to me about why she bought so many books. Her easy conversation and stories had me
engrossed and laughing. She lived by
herself with a 14-yr old blind Cocker Spaniel who she read to in the wee hours
of the morning. Customers came and went,
some came in like regulars checking for new arrivals and others came knowingly
to buy exactly what they needed.
I also met
many of the young volunteers who were there to either gain experience for work because
their welfare stipend was coming to an end.
A couple of young people were fulfilling a community service for misdemeanors. Some
volunteers were from the church.
In the
beginning, I felt unsafe as I saw the location of the thrift shop. I expected to encounter people under the
influence, the gruff types, and the suspicious types. On the contrary, I met interesting, trusting
and friendly people. I was proven wrong about
my original assumptions although, I also found some customers who were not so
friendly but, understandably, I would be suspicious of me, too. I was new to the place.
With the results
of my diversity self-assessment, I took it for granted that I was culturally
diverse and fair. My score was high and
I had no doubt that my experiences spoke for themselves. Yet, I have not even stepped in the work
place where I volunteered and I already made assumptions of what kind of people
I was to encounter. I was mostly wrong
about the people. I think I made
assumptions because I was not honest with myself. I did not want to encounter the people I
thought and expected to encounter. It changed
as soon as my attitude adjusted and I came face to face with my own
prejudices. I knew cultural diversity
as it applied to language, ethnicity, religions, and beliefs. I forgot the human contact and character that
went beyond cultural diversity.
We ought
to live simply and honestly. We need to
be happy and content with what we have and not what we do not have. I realized after my experience at the Mission
that I have become my job and have lost appreciation of what it meant to work and be a nurse. Instead, I have given over to the rigors and
politics of work. I have become hardened. I have learned from the workers at the
Mission that life is about helping and spreading cheers to everyone especially
the children and the elderlies. As the
workers at the Mission would say, “God bless us all” indeed.
My
actions at the Mission started out with a task-oriented attitude—“let’s-get-this-done-and-over-with.”
The workers started with a prayer with everyone
and a cheerful “good mornings.” Everybody knew their tasks and they
approached it with nothing more than a smile and dedication. Each customer was greeted with a cheerful “hello”
and left with a “God bless you.” The overhead
music played Christian music that some sang along with. It was contagious. I realized then that I was uptight. After I met with the gentleman with the
tumor, I realized deep within that I was concerned about him and the real nurse in me
surfaced (not the job as a nurse). Somehow,
my experience at the Mission made me realize why I became a nurse in the first
place—to listen and help people get better.
