Three Quarters, Two Value Meals, One Important Lesson
-rey
-rey
Winter of 2002 all the way to spring of 2003 found me working and loafing around the campaign headquarters of one of the council members of the City of Los Angeles. Then, I was working as a database manager for his entire re-election campaign. As massive as the work load seemed to be it was not so hard to manage the database which had hundreds of thousands of voters’ info in it. I worked flex time and rarely worked for more than six hours a day, I had a very good salary too. Often, I'd be in and out of the office. Coming in whenever they needed me, then leaving again once I got bored doing nothing...or I'd be downloading anime and mp3s.
During the peak of the campaign period I usually came in at nine o'clock at night to attend the staff meeting, and then proceed to managing my databases, printing reports, running statistics and entering newly acquired data courtesy of the volunteers. All these would be done and over with usually by two in the morning. With that all done I lock the office and start walking the mile home. I had a good job, I had money, I had what many yuppies yearned to start off with, but I was not happy. Still this was not where I wanted to be. Still this was not my idea of a good life. Still this is not what I thought would bring a genuine smile to my face.
On the way home from the office, I have to cross a freeway off ramp where two bums always spend the night, and sometimes even the day, hoping to be able to get a handful of loose change from the cars that exit the freeway. One of them is Latino, the other, Caucasian. And as I pass by at night walking home I usually smile at them and bid them good night, and so do they. Probably once every two weeks when I have to report to the office early to troubleshoot or do some emergency statistics runs, I hand them my leftover breakfast from McDonalds. Often a whole breakfast sandwich and a large drink. But in my rush I don't even have the time to receive their thanks.
One morning, about two weeks before election day, I found myself walking home at exactly 10 in the morning. It was the first day I worked for 12 hours straight in my entire life. It was getting close to crunch time for our candidate and the data I process every night is oh-so-important to determine the next moves and pushes of the campaign. As I passed by the freeway off ramp I saw just one of duo, the Caucasian one. I smiled as always, gave him three quarters, and as a polite gesture bid him good morning and asked, "Where's your compadre?" To which his reply surprised me. He looked down at his feet, his smile was wiped off his face and his eyes glazed. I found myself in an awkward position and so to break the moment I blurted out, "Want to have breakfast man?" He looked me straight in the eyes, shocked but still misty eyed. Finally with a cringing voice he replied, "Sure. If it's alright with you." "Are you good for a quick meal at Mickey Dees?" I asked. He nodded. And so we started to walk towards the nearest McDonalds which was a couple of houses away from where I lived.
Once there I asked him, "So what will it be?" Again a look of surprise was painted on his face. "I'll just get what you don't finish." He said. "Are you kidding me? If you wait for that you won't get nothin' but empty wrappers, a fries box and an empty glass of soda! I haven't eaten for twelve hours dude, I'm freakin' starving!" He hesitated and finally decided he wanted a regular french fries. "Hey, I didn't drag you all the way here just for a small french fries. I asked you out to breakfast and therefore I'll treat you to breakfast, not just fries. Tell you what, I'll get you what I'm getting, a super sized Big Mac Meal aite? And I'll get you the 2 Cheeseburgers Meal to go for later." He stared at me with disbelief.
Once we had our food, I opted to sit outside. First of all because I didn't want his smell to offend the other people in the fast food and second I loved the morning spring breezes in Southern California. I was excited and longing to dig in. I opened the box of my Big Mac, prepared the ranch dressing for my fries, dipped a couple of fries and put them in my mouth. Then I felt embarrassed. Right in front of me was this dirty Caucasian bum, most likely 10 times hungrier than I was and he was praying. I stopped and waited for him to finish his prayer. When he started eating, only then did I continue. After a while he told me about his compadre. "He left a few days ago to head to downtown. He took the 84. Hasn't come back since. I'm worried. He drinks too much that he forgets. But I pray for him." A tear rolled down his cheek. "You pray for him?" I asked. "Yes I do. Everyday. Even more when he left and didn't come back." "Then he would be just fine wherever he is." I said. Still worried, he tried to crack a smile and nod. Then he asked me a question. "Why aren't you happy?" It was my turn to be shocked. I sat back on the chair. Looked at him inquisitively, trying to figure out what he's really trying to say.
Apparently he noticed my look and puzzlement so he explained. "I've seen you walk past by me at least once almost every night. You only have that smile when you see me and when you greet me. Before and after that you have nothing more than a blank face and eyes that scream 'Get me out of here!' Why is that?" I was dumbfounded and he waited eagerly for my reply. Finally I broke the silence with my reply. "The life I have right now is just not the life I dreamed nor envisioned nor planned for myself. I feel like I was uprooted. I had everything going as planned and suddenly...BOOM! Change of plans I had to emigrate here and start over. All my plans ruined, everything I worked so hard for put aside, even trashed. I'm glad I'm surviving, but I'm not happy with the way things are going."
"So you think happiness lies in the fulfillment of your plans? Of your desires?" He quickly asked. "No, no. Not just that...even this...what we're doing it makes me happy that I'm here and we get to talk and I get to help you about even if just for a day's meal. Y'know?" "That's it?!" He said is a sarcastic kind of manner. "Dude, if I thought of happiness the way you do, I won’t be surprised if I was flat in the center of that freeway and not on the sides of the off ramp."
I didn't quite get what he said right away, but he continued to explain before I could ask. "The key to happiness and contentment lies in you. It lies in your view of things, it depends on your outlook in life. Twenty years ago I was a lawyer with a name, a family, a house, cars and everything I wanted. I was not happy. One day things took a bad turn and I lost everything. Months later I found myself scouring the trash cans for food. But I learned to be content and grateful for whatever food I found in the trash. I learned to be content with whomever the company I had. I rejoiced with every moment I spent alive, with every new coat I found at the dumpster, with every penny I got from sticking my palms out at car windows. I indulge and I celebrate at the moment that I'm sharing with you right now, with the meal you have treated me to. And every time I could honestly say 'I've never been happier.' Happiness..., YOUR happiness depends on you."
I was blown away.
During the peak of the campaign period I usually came in at nine o'clock at night to attend the staff meeting, and then proceed to managing my databases, printing reports, running statistics and entering newly acquired data courtesy of the volunteers. All these would be done and over with usually by two in the morning. With that all done I lock the office and start walking the mile home. I had a good job, I had money, I had what many yuppies yearned to start off with, but I was not happy. Still this was not where I wanted to be. Still this was not my idea of a good life. Still this is not what I thought would bring a genuine smile to my face.
On the way home from the office, I have to cross a freeway off ramp where two bums always spend the night, and sometimes even the day, hoping to be able to get a handful of loose change from the cars that exit the freeway. One of them is Latino, the other, Caucasian. And as I pass by at night walking home I usually smile at them and bid them good night, and so do they. Probably once every two weeks when I have to report to the office early to troubleshoot or do some emergency statistics runs, I hand them my leftover breakfast from McDonalds. Often a whole breakfast sandwich and a large drink. But in my rush I don't even have the time to receive their thanks.
One morning, about two weeks before election day, I found myself walking home at exactly 10 in the morning. It was the first day I worked for 12 hours straight in my entire life. It was getting close to crunch time for our candidate and the data I process every night is oh-so-important to determine the next moves and pushes of the campaign. As I passed by the freeway off ramp I saw just one of duo, the Caucasian one. I smiled as always, gave him three quarters, and as a polite gesture bid him good morning and asked, "Where's your compadre?" To which his reply surprised me. He looked down at his feet, his smile was wiped off his face and his eyes glazed. I found myself in an awkward position and so to break the moment I blurted out, "Want to have breakfast man?" He looked me straight in the eyes, shocked but still misty eyed. Finally with a cringing voice he replied, "Sure. If it's alright with you." "Are you good for a quick meal at Mickey Dees?" I asked. He nodded. And so we started to walk towards the nearest McDonalds which was a couple of houses away from where I lived.
Once there I asked him, "So what will it be?" Again a look of surprise was painted on his face. "I'll just get what you don't finish." He said. "Are you kidding me? If you wait for that you won't get nothin' but empty wrappers, a fries box and an empty glass of soda! I haven't eaten for twelve hours dude, I'm freakin' starving!" He hesitated and finally decided he wanted a regular french fries. "Hey, I didn't drag you all the way here just for a small french fries. I asked you out to breakfast and therefore I'll treat you to breakfast, not just fries. Tell you what, I'll get you what I'm getting, a super sized Big Mac Meal aite? And I'll get you the 2 Cheeseburgers Meal to go for later." He stared at me with disbelief.
Once we had our food, I opted to sit outside. First of all because I didn't want his smell to offend the other people in the fast food and second I loved the morning spring breezes in Southern California. I was excited and longing to dig in. I opened the box of my Big Mac, prepared the ranch dressing for my fries, dipped a couple of fries and put them in my mouth. Then I felt embarrassed. Right in front of me was this dirty Caucasian bum, most likely 10 times hungrier than I was and he was praying. I stopped and waited for him to finish his prayer. When he started eating, only then did I continue. After a while he told me about his compadre. "He left a few days ago to head to downtown. He took the 84. Hasn't come back since. I'm worried. He drinks too much that he forgets. But I pray for him." A tear rolled down his cheek. "You pray for him?" I asked. "Yes I do. Everyday. Even more when he left and didn't come back." "Then he would be just fine wherever he is." I said. Still worried, he tried to crack a smile and nod. Then he asked me a question. "Why aren't you happy?" It was my turn to be shocked. I sat back on the chair. Looked at him inquisitively, trying to figure out what he's really trying to say.
Apparently he noticed my look and puzzlement so he explained. "I've seen you walk past by me at least once almost every night. You only have that smile when you see me and when you greet me. Before and after that you have nothing more than a blank face and eyes that scream 'Get me out of here!' Why is that?" I was dumbfounded and he waited eagerly for my reply. Finally I broke the silence with my reply. "The life I have right now is just not the life I dreamed nor envisioned nor planned for myself. I feel like I was uprooted. I had everything going as planned and suddenly...BOOM! Change of plans I had to emigrate here and start over. All my plans ruined, everything I worked so hard for put aside, even trashed. I'm glad I'm surviving, but I'm not happy with the way things are going."
"So you think happiness lies in the fulfillment of your plans? Of your desires?" He quickly asked. "No, no. Not just that...even this...what we're doing it makes me happy that I'm here and we get to talk and I get to help you about even if just for a day's meal. Y'know?" "That's it?!" He said is a sarcastic kind of manner. "Dude, if I thought of happiness the way you do, I won’t be surprised if I was flat in the center of that freeway and not on the sides of the off ramp."
I didn't quite get what he said right away, but he continued to explain before I could ask. "The key to happiness and contentment lies in you. It lies in your view of things, it depends on your outlook in life. Twenty years ago I was a lawyer with a name, a family, a house, cars and everything I wanted. I was not happy. One day things took a bad turn and I lost everything. Months later I found myself scouring the trash cans for food. But I learned to be content and grateful for whatever food I found in the trash. I learned to be content with whomever the company I had. I rejoiced with every moment I spent alive, with every new coat I found at the dumpster, with every penny I got from sticking my palms out at car windows. I indulge and I celebrate at the moment that I'm sharing with you right now, with the meal you have treated me to. And every time I could honestly say 'I've never been happier.' Happiness..., YOUR happiness depends on you."
I was blown away.
