Things I Am Thinking About
I was at Safeway, going through the Checkout aisle, and there is one check out clerk in particular that I always get who (and I'm not sure if it's proper to say it but I have to for the sake of description) looks like he has AIDS and is about to die soon. And I know what that looks like. He always seems like he's about to fall apart, but yet, all of the words that come out of his mouth are positive. On this particular busy day, I asked him how he was doing and how much longer his shift was, and he looked at me like I knew it would be crazy busy but proudly declared, "At least I have a job." Then, he wrote something down, and said, "You want to know how I can get through the next 2 hours?" On the sheet of paper, I thought it would say something like faith, medicine, health, persistence, or insanity. Instead, it said, "$17.95." That's how much he gets paid per hour.
I left my extension cord at Coffee Online one day and had to go back for it. I thought it would be a simple pick up, but when I arrived, something dramatic was going on. The counter barista looked at me with genuine fear, and said, "something's going on in the back. I can't get it right now." All these guys were back there crowded around something. I kept trying to look back there to see -- was something stolen? was something broken? And then one of the guys came up with a paper towel and unveiled what was in it to the barista. It was a dead rat.
Last night I met a woman named Ginger who works with recovering alcoholics at the Recovery Cafe during the day, and now manages exit polls by night. Being half asleep, I listened completely devoid of emotion as she explained to me that she loved homeless people. They were crazy, like everyone's crazy, but they just couldn't hide it and there was something beautiful about that. She talked a lot about how great she felt regarding the work that she did, and how she didn't do alcohol and drugs anymore -- no judgment -- it just wasn't her thing. She looked herself like someone who was formerly homeless, an older woman with a bit too much makeup, an air of recovering from alcoholism herself, and a genuine sensitivity, with a distinctly hard edge. Like she'd lost her life and regained it once before.
I'm having trouble, amidst all this, understanding why studying for the bar is so important. I don't think it really is. But I do it anyway, for lack of any better idea about how I could contribute to the world. All I wanted to do is help people and somehow, out of this All American fear of becoming like the people I want to help, I ended up in this world of elitist privilege. And now I don't even know what I'm doing there. Since leaving law school, I am starting to lose interest in gay rights. See, it doesn't really matter, it doesn't really feel that oppressive and awful, when I'm not in the bubble of privilege that is law school. Because the world has a lot more problems than that.
I left my extension cord at Coffee Online one day and had to go back for it. I thought it would be a simple pick up, but when I arrived, something dramatic was going on. The counter barista looked at me with genuine fear, and said, "something's going on in the back. I can't get it right now." All these guys were back there crowded around something. I kept trying to look back there to see -- was something stolen? was something broken? And then one of the guys came up with a paper towel and unveiled what was in it to the barista. It was a dead rat.
Last night I met a woman named Ginger who works with recovering alcoholics at the Recovery Cafe during the day, and now manages exit polls by night. Being half asleep, I listened completely devoid of emotion as she explained to me that she loved homeless people. They were crazy, like everyone's crazy, but they just couldn't hide it and there was something beautiful about that. She talked a lot about how great she felt regarding the work that she did, and how she didn't do alcohol and drugs anymore -- no judgment -- it just wasn't her thing. She looked herself like someone who was formerly homeless, an older woman with a bit too much makeup, an air of recovering from alcoholism herself, and a genuine sensitivity, with a distinctly hard edge. Like she'd lost her life and regained it once before.
I'm having trouble, amidst all this, understanding why studying for the bar is so important. I don't think it really is. But I do it anyway, for lack of any better idea about how I could contribute to the world. All I wanted to do is help people and somehow, out of this All American fear of becoming like the people I want to help, I ended up in this world of elitist privilege. And now I don't even know what I'm doing there. Since leaving law school, I am starting to lose interest in gay rights. See, it doesn't really matter, it doesn't really feel that oppressive and awful, when I'm not in the bubble of privilege that is law school. Because the world has a lot more problems than that.