Food and Friends

Rolf had scheduled a group from his company to volunteer at Food and Friends on Thursday. My first time volunteering was with his group last year. I jumped at the chance to go again. It's one of many things I always mean to do, but usualy never get around to it.

We were supposed to be there, in DC, at 5:30. Rolf called me in the afternoon, a bit disorganized. He said he had a meeting in Arlington, where I work, and he hoped we could go together. But he wanted to be there at 5:15 since he was the organizer.

I was late to work that day, so I said I didn't know when I could leave. . . but my boss disappeared to an offsite meeting after lunch, so I hit the road at 4:45. I called Rolf twice on his cell phone, but there was no answer.

Well, what would you have done? I waited five minutes, and then I left. By the time he returned my call, I was sitting on the 14th street bridge. It was already 5:15; there was no way to know how long his meeting would go. He's always late anyway, so I figured there was a good possibility that he wouldn't even get there at all. Shit happens. But that is not the whole story. I wasn't looking forward to being with him anyway.

He was mad. He didn't know how to get there, and hadn't printed out directions. So, he's mad at me, and I didn't apologize. I should have, but I have a bad attitude lately. Maybe I shouldn't have. I don't know. It's not like I was looking forward to spending time with him, and I don't really know why it's been difficult lately . . . except that I have not been drunk every day.

Yeah, it's easier to be with him when I am drunk every day. I'm just really mad at him. And it's hard, because we've had some really good times like the wedding a few weekends ago, and working on our garden, and Mom & Dad's garden the weekend before that, and the closing of Ziegfelds (although not a good time per se, I am so glad he was there with me). . . but when you . . . but when I am subjected to 'psychotic bouts of rage', what? twice a year, once a month, every Saturday morning ( I just lose track.) ? and you add to that all the little crap, (like commercials, taking out the trash, my failure to do everything, pots, keys, "what time are we leaving") during which I have to be prepared for it to turn into another outrageous display of impatience and anger, well who wouldn't avoid that? It hurts so much.

And it frightens me. And not in the least, but the most, I am afraid he's going to have a heart attack or a nervous breakdown.

So, "drive yourself" I thought. It was the right thing to do because he was over an hour late getting there. I was half an hour late myself because I got lost. Three volunteers from his group were there already. We chatted for a while, before another volunteer showed up. They asked me where Rolf was, and I said "He's on that road!", indicating the whole neighborhood of roads I'd been lost on.

"Do we want to wait for the rest of the volunteers?" their coordinator asked. Some of the volunteers had been waiting for an hour already, so we said "No".

There were already two other groups of volunteers packaging up meals when we entered the kitchen. Two of us joined the two who were already there, and the rest of our group went back to the delivery area to sort a food donation.

So, I'm there near the end of the assembly line (my job was to pull the completed bags from my left, fold the top down, and push it to my right - it all goes really really fast - it's fun.) Rolf comes bursting in expecting to see his ten people, instead it's all these strangers and me. I just pointed to the back and said "They're back there."

Now, what's odd is that I'm at this table with seven strangers for an hour and a half. They don't seem to know each other either, but they're getting to know one another, chatting. . . and although I was happy, smiling, and amiable. . . I said not one word.