Soup Kitchens, Mormons and Obama

So, today we volunteered in a soup kitchen. I suppose the action I thirsted for yesterday was to be quenched. I’d never worked in a soup kitchen, but I had this preconceived idea of what it might be, and it kind of met those expectations. I guess its fairly straightforward: there’s people making the food, food and people that need the food. But maybe that makes everything way too basic. I tried going in with a mindset of that I would at Subway, they were customers and I wasn’t doing anything noble by serving them.

After arriving at the soup kitchen a half an hour early, the six of us killed time by checking out the coffee shop The Hidden Pearl (apparently it was hidden for a reason… the girls said the coffee really wasn’t great). We then sat outside the Kenwood Soup Kitchen for about 20 minutes while we waited for the other volunteers to show up. The door was then unlocked and they proceeded to lead us to a room where we were told to wait for further instructions. So much for doing away with inaction… After waiting in the empty room for about 30 minutes we were given two large pans of peppers to slice and dice.

We talked and sliced, sliced and talked and then a couple of Mormons showed up, smartly dressed with their white shirts and striped ties. I just remember the one’s name (Jeffrey, he let it slip) because they introduced themselves by their last names (apparently they all go by the first name Elder while their doing there missionary work… who knew). They sliced eggplant, while we continued chopping are peppers. Then two more showed up. We cut some more. And then another showed up. We finished up chopping, and then the eleven of us moved to the kitchen/dining hall to help serve.

That was awkward. The Mormons kind of knew what they were doing, but we were very much the rookies, and stood around creating traffic jams at key intersections and asked continuously, “what can I do?” I kind of wondered how much help I was being. The Mormons reassured us saying, “lots of waiting for things to do goes on” and at that very moment I was terrified. Would I be waiting for things to do for the next ten months? What if I can’t find a purpose, I just am there in Paraguay, and no one has a use for me? That’s probably my biggest fear.

After suffering this minor panic attack from trying to glimpse in the future, I calmed my self by serving beans and potatoes. After all of the people had gone through I had my turn at the spread in front of me: green beans, potatoes, salad, cornbread, cake, and a delicious tomato corn sort of soup. It was a feast. Probably in the top 10 best meals I’ve had in Chicago… maybe top 5, I dunno. I had a nice talk with a guy named Patrick who apparently sold sandwiches when he wasn’t here eating at the Kenwood Soup Kitchen among various other facts ranging from how Iowa’s a great place to go to college and how he’s never going back to Minnesota. I guess what I’m trying to get at it is when I felt like I wasn’t having an impact, I just sat down and talked with someone. That made my time worthwhile. So, in Paraguay, if there’s nothing else for me to do, I suppose I can just sit down and try and relate.

FACT. Obama’s house was about 4 blocks from the soup kitchen. No, I didn’t go. Apparently there are quite a few cops and the house is hard to see. At least that’s what Jeffrey the Mormon tells us.