A Dining Room to Call My Own

Before you congratulate me, I didn't move to a bigger apartment with a real dining room. I didn't move into a place with a real kitchen, either. I didn't move at all; I'm in the same cave with the same hot plate (and let's not forget Lenny).

What I do have is so much better than a bigger place to live. I have a volunteer gig.

I can thank Father Augustine for the nudge. He could plainly see that I was restless, that I needed to do more, be more, and (most importantly) give more. During another one of my frustrated fits he suggested that I could volunteer with some of the undergraduate students at the Dining Room, which is probably Eugene's most precious jewel. Imagine a restaurant where all of the food is donated, most of the produce is organically and locally grown, and the diners can come in and have a free meal. It sounds like a soup kitchen, but with so much more to it. As the staff likes to say, it's "dining with dignity". The place looks just like a restaurant, and even has diner-painted murals and a piano for the musically inclined. From Monday to Thursday every week the Dining Room's staff and volunteers feed the homeless, the travelers, and the working Eugenians that can't quite stretch their pay far enough. Booths are filled with families and new acquaintances, and for the most part everyone is happy to be there.


I signed up in late April, and I have been hooked ever since. I have the honor of scraping dishes, bussing tables, or serving beverages and desserts (depending on the staffing needs of the day) twice per week, sometimes more. I dive into my two-hour shift, singing for the diners the whole way through. If they let me I would be there every day for both shifts, singing and getting my hands dirty with whatever they needed. I now know some frequent diners (and all of the staff) by name, and no matter how my day goes I can count on being flooded with genuine spunk the moment I grab my apron. I leave feeling tired and grateful for the room that I do have, the love I share, and the belly that is either already full or will soon be. The room I lack at home is suddenly irrelevant, for in giving more I suddenly find more to hand off to others.

My time spent here is more than just giving back, and is more than fortifying my pledge that no one will go hungry on my watch. This is community in action, at its most splendid and loving. I cannot study development in good conscience if I don't live it at the same time. Perhaps I should write my thesis on my time here.