We’d been on the rooftop in the restaurant lounge of a fancy hotel celebrating a friend’s birthday. The six of us included a couple who did volunteer work with the homeless in a food kitchen and with a transport service. Her career had been in social work and his as a lawyer. They split their time between a home in Florida and Asheville. Another woman at the dinner didn’t eat refined sugar and was cautious about the source of her salmon—was it wild? Was it responsibly caught? She managed a retreat center locally. We all practiced some form or other of spirituality. Most of us had never met before. The birthday gathering was relaxed and warm.
Eventually, it was time to go home. We waited as friends in front of the elevator. The doors opened to take us down to the garage in the basement. Inside, a large, lone, black man looked up from inside the carriage, mop in hand. We hesitated, but he beckoned us in. Whatever cleaning solution he was using left a pleasant, fresh scent. He moved himself into the corner as we filed in.
I’d worn a mask in the elevator when I’d ridden it up to the rooftop earlier in the evening. Covid conscious, I had not wanted to share a closed breathing space with strangers. As I got on now, I glanced at the janitor. I wondered if he was uncomfortable with all of us crowded together, unmasked. I could have asked him, I could have put my mask on, but I did neither. As we travelled down the shaft, no-one engaged this man in any kind of conversation or did much to acknowledge his presence.
Suddenly I saw myself, and how he saw me, us—white and privileged, unable to see him as anything other than a janitor. And then the elevator doors opened. As we filed out, someone said something about working with the less fortunate. No one said goodbye or have a nice evening to the man with the mop who made the elevator smell nice.
From the Rooftop
I’m not beating myself up, much, about missing an opportunity. I am grateful for each moment of seeing how I am. It’s these moments that set a resolve in myself. A wish that such moments fill with presence. A presence that allows me to Be, to speak and share being human. To acknowledge that which is the same in all of us, to descend from the rooftop.
Aldi is a supermarket chain where you have to put a quarter in the cart so it releases and you can then use it…then when you are done you bring it back, reconnect it with the others and your quarter pops out. After loading my groceries I was returning the cart as an older African American lady was walking toard the store entrance. It was clear she would likely be using a cart and I had the impulse to simply ask her to take the one I was returning. We made eye contact, I gave a slight smile and nod and she proceeded to hand me her quarter which I graciously accepted as she took possession of the cart. Pleasantries were exchanged and the vibe was positive. All this is good, but I must say that I felt the need to make an extra effort to be genuinely engaged and to internally wish her well, perhaps she was doing the same for me. Again, all this is good…but frankly, it’s a shame that this kind of extra consideration is called for in these times. Having said all of that I should acknowledge that most of the time, such opportunities are lost through my own abject unconsciousness and/or inner considering (which is a fancy term for fear). Thank you, Roberta, for prompting my own re-collection.