Coffee with Bobby

I had finished my time at Western for the day and drove straight to Arby's on Westnedge, where I worked. I arrive before the dinner rush, in time to relieve the day crew, some of which had been there since 6:00 AM. Kathy, the day manager, would be able to go home, home to the old grassiness trailer park on Cork street. Not a great place, but a place a fast food manager's salary, with no one else to help you, would pay for.

The night was already going to be an interesting one. I was scheduled to close with Chaquita, yes like the banana, who was an initially quiet, but outspoken once you got to know her, black girl and Jim, who was a practicing Wiccan who liked to play hacky sack in the lobby and kept a one hitter and a bag a grass in his car. This was not the best crew I could have, but they would certainly be entertaining. I would ask them crazy questions in the down time and go do dishes when I needed a break from the noise.

The dinner rush went smoothly and the remainder of the day people had been sent home. I'm wearing the drive thru headset, which is silent, Chaquita is running the front and Jim is on the slicer. There are a couple guests. I haven't seen them, but I can hear their chatter and the hear the racking sound of the slicer bouncing back and forth. I am arm deep in soapy water, water as hot as I can stand it, cleaning used dressing bins and dropped tongs. I have a towel nearby, in case someone pulls into the drive thru and I need to take their order.

I hear the slicer turn off and the brown swinging door, somewhat like a saloon half door, clatters open. "Jay," Jim says in his slow, serious way, "you might want to come out here." With nothing more said, he goes back up front. I finish the dish I'm working on, dry off my hand and step out, beside Jim in the sandwich making area. He points, where the few customers can't see his hands and tell me there is a homeless guy on the left side of the restaurant.

I don't want to have to deal with this. I'm certainly supposed to ask him to leave if he is not a paying customer, but it might cause a confrontation and more than that, he's probably not even doing anything.

I walk to the front, to help Chaquia at the same time I eye the guy Jim is talking about, I have seen him walking the street before. His face is a surrounded by crazy, yellowed white hair, nappy and dirty. The winding bristles end in leathery skin with deep creases caked in dirt. Dirt ground in for months or years. He looks in all directions, addled or twitchy. His lips are nearly invisible and he is missing teeth. It was like his whole person was a dying husk of who he used to be except his eyes, which were bright blue and alive. The old man was a costume for the child peeking out of the mask.

I did the only thing that occurred to me to do in this situation. I made two cups of coffee, one for me and one for the man who had wondered into my lobby. I grabbed creamers and sugar, in case he wanted them, and walked onto the lobby.

I sat the coffee, creamers and sugars in front of him and asked if I could sit down. He nodded that I could. I asked his name, Bobby. I asked what brought him here, it wasn't real clear. He began to tell me of loosing his family, his job, his ability to work. I let him talk, offered sympathy, but mostly listened. I felt for Bobby. I felt helpless to do anything for him, except listen and give him a cup of coffee.

I sat with him for fifteen minutes before the drive thru went off. I apologized and took the car's order. I moved back behind the counter and went back to work. I dropped the fries, took the money, packed and delivered the food. While doing that another order, then another order came in. We have a mini rush.

Half a dozen orders later, the rush is done and I figure it is time to which Bobby well and send him on his way. When I look, though, he is gone. The table was completely cleaned off, like he was never there. He never came back and I never saw him on the street again. Today, though, I listened to a Hearing Voices on homelessness and I am thinking about Bobby, wondering what happened to him.