E.T. Phoned Home

Often times, when we ourselves need a helping hand, it is those who have the least to offer who are there for us, providing insight towards what is (and is not) missing from our lives. Those who have nearly nothing seem to have a greater ability to appreciate the smaller things in life and remind us that we have so much to be thankful for. From time to time I believe we all forget that the best medicine for improving ourselves is, in fact, to help others.

While it is nothing out of the ordinary for many, my first and very recent experience of serving food at the soup kitchen downtown has opened my eyes to the abundant hardship that life is capable of handing out. Watching over 600 people of all ages, genders, and backgrounds line up for a warm meal in anything from a dirty, worn out tee shirt to a polished suit was astonishing, to say the least. Hearing someone who could barely stand on his own feet say “God bless you,” and “thank you for being here” as I simply slid him a tray of food was heartwarming. In that moment I decided that if he could handle a bad day, I could too.

Aside from the traditional volunteering, I recently learned of the countless and somewhat unique fundraising events that Dallas has to offer. Entering a hotel ballroom for an AIDS fundraiser that was card-stocked and Vegas-themed was the first clue that it would be a great night. The second clue was the dance floor packed with gentlemen dancing to “It’s Raining Men” with their poker faces on. While I had no prior poker knowledge, or anything of the sort, an Aretha Franklin song followed by the “Cha Cha Slide” had me feeling encouraged to sing along, and it almost had me dancing…almost.

In another act of appreciation for my recent luck during this economy, I celebrated my employment by heading out for a night out on the town. What I thought was a simple bar hop turned into an abnormally amusing evening. With friends in town, I’d found it necessary to entertain the best, and most varied, way possible. Rather than sticking to the nearby bars we headed from McKinney Avenue to the Slip Inn for a change of pace, and an obvious change of scenery. From the stuffed, dusty-grey cat clinging on to the ceiling for it’s past (or maybe ninth) life to the alien mural on the outside wall, the Slip Inn was, hands down, the most unusual bar atmosphere I had ever encountered. I made sure to snap a picture of a friend as he phoned home to ET’s mural as well as another picture of the peculiar, stuffed cat. What I didn’t expect, however, was the pickup line in the bathroom line. Not knowing how to respond to the “What’s your name?” following the “So you survived the bathroom?” line, I decided to reply with my name and a very quick escape. Who knew that a dirty bathroom would ever be used as an icebreaker?

With my philanthropic and celebratory experiences in my mind, and in my future, I have learned that the simple status of employment, for instance, is something that should not be taken for granted. Instead, it should be celebrated on every day off. Whether celebrating with friends, with a mural resembling ET, or by dancing to the “Cha Cha Slide,” Dallas seems to make celebrating a piece of cake.