On the bus in Oakland

Interesting scenario. I was on the bus and one man was talking about just getting out of jail and how if the police had known all of what he did he would have been in jail for life. Then four hours later I was back on the bus headed home and the bus driver was having a conversation with a guy who was talking about "cappin" other folks who showed up with a gun against him.

My neighbor

It's not a single serving encounter since I see him multiple times a week but the first time I met my neighbor "T" I knew I would always remember the encounter. His words were something like, "Hey man, if we're not friends, we're enemies and that's not very neighborly..."

Comcast Customer Service

Our OnDemand wasn't working so I called the customer service number that came up with the error code. The woman who answered the phone was very helpful. It came to a point where she had to send a signal to our cable box and we had to wait. At first it was an awkward silence and so I wondered aloud if she had to fill these awkward silences or make small talk. We ended up having a small conversation about working in customer service...

Man on the street in West Oakland

I had stopped off at a local coffee shop to grab a cup before work. The coffee shop seemed a little out of place in West Oakland, it's hippiesque vibe conflicting with the urban ghetto scene outside its doors. As I stepped out onto the street, pulled my earphone with music back into my ear and began to walk towards my current consulting job at a non-profit industrial arts education warehouse a voice called out behind me, "yo man, you smoke weed?" I don't know why I turned but I looked back to see an older african american man with gray tuggina the sides of his curly sideburns walking up behind me, a half smoked cigarette was cocked with a swagger in his left hand. I answered no but he still seemed to want to talk. "Just had to check before I tried to sell you some," he said. We kept walking. "I used to work for the county," he continued, "I went to school for biology, anatomy, ya know. We used to get bodies down there and I would have to cut them open, man, after I made my first cut I looked around and everyone else was passed out, f*&^in on the floor," he rambled on. After a block he stopped and said, "Yo man, take care of yourself, how old are you? Yeah, we gotta look out for prostate cancer at our age." And with that...he walked across the street...

Court, Oakland

It was a small room, windowless, stuffy...not even the size of a normal bedroom. I showed up 15 minutes early, a little out of breath and sweaty from my bike ride but with a powder blue tie on. After checking in with the court assistant I sat in the movie theatre-esque seats and waited for the judge. People trickled in, apparently no one could find the court on the second floor of the post office. The judge was one part business, one part silly, and one part wisdom (he knew the origins of names and spoke multiple languages it seemed). I was a little nervous as I stepped up to the front when he called my name, Pablo Daniel Wallace Pitcher DeProto...I said six words in my court appearance. "Good morning your honor," and after he said that all my documents were in order and that he had signed my official name change..."Thank you." And with that, with this single serving encounter, my journey of identity took another step with my legal name change...

Coffee Shop, 57th Street, Chicago

As any of you who live on the west coast know, there is no Dunkin' Donuts on the west coast (but there are DD commercials...weird). Anyway, so any time I go to Chicago to visit I make sure to stop by Dunkin' and grab a large cup of coffee (three cream, three sugar). So I had my cup of coffee and a smile on my face, we walked over to another local coffee shop so that Marcella could get a latte. She eyed me as I walked in with my DD cup, her eyes sizing me up. "Sir, let me give you a taste of OUR coffee," she called out from behind the counter. I had been to this coffee shop before and had their coffee. I tried to stammer out the explanation of why I was drinking Dunkin' Donuts but she wasn't having it. So I walked out with two cups of coffee. The coffee I was supposed to try was too hot and so I didn't try it until we had walked a ways. I almost gagged. It was not good. And so I tossed the coffee in the garbage and went back to sipping my DD coffee. It was a single serving encounter with the woman at the coffee shop because...well, I wasn't going to go back and tell her how bad their coffee was...

Street Spirit Vendor

I had kept it in my pocket for the last few weeks, a wrinkled five dollar bill that had a bit of tape on it from where it had ripped. I have seen him before, actually bought a paper from him for $1 the other day. He is usually dressed in all black, or some faded variation there-of. His collared shirt buttoned all the way up, looking like it is a little too small in the neck; His black hat tilted a little too the side. I would say he is about 45 if I had to guess. He is usually standing outside of Peet's Coffee with a smile, chatting with people as they walk by and selling the Street Spirit paper. Like the Streetwise paper in Chicago that I grew up listening to street vendors try and sell with a variety of tactics, the Street Spirit paper is meant to be an alternative to panhandling. I have found myself curious in the last few weeks about the panhandlers and street spirit vendors that I see everyday as I walk around my neighborhood. I give when I can and always acknowledge them. Today I stopped and chatted with this guy for a few moments. I found out that he makes about $10 a day on average but they charge him $3 a night at the shelter. He said he uses most of the rest of the money for food and I believe him. But he said it's always a struggle, everyday out there trying to see the paper. I handed him the crumpled up $5 bill and thanked him for taking the time to talk with me. He said thank you and I walked on my way. Now there are a mixture of feelings from this single serving encounter (though I have seen him before this is the first time I talked to him) and I am still sorting through them...

Not so single serving but still a good story

So my friend Ziad called yesterday and he had an extra ticket to some charity event that his organization had bought and he wondered if I wanted to go. I had no idea really what I was going to. When I walked in and sat down I found out that it was the 10th year anniversary of an organization Just Cause Oakland that works for affordable housing here in Oakland. I sat and thought how interesting, with my family history, that I was at this presentation. Back in the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s my father worked on affordable housing in Chicago, organizing, protesting, etc. I kept looking around, occasionally seeing someone who looked familiar. And then I caught sight of someone who was about to walk onto the stage to give a speech. It was there surprise special guest. Turned out it was Jesse Jackson who happened to be my dad's student at the University of Chicago Divinity School and who my dad worked with at Operation PUSH for over a decade (I grew up running the halls). The last time I saw Jesse was 13 years ago when he showed up at our house after my dad passed away. After he spoke I immediately weaved my way through the tables to the side of the stage and caught him as he was coming off the stage. He barely looked at me and the other person who was there to shake his hand as he was moving towards the exit so as I shook his hand I reached in and said, "Al Pitcher's son." He immediately stopped, his eyes lit up and he pulled me in for a huge hug. He then grabbed my hand and led me into the back for a few seconds of chatting before he had to run...While it's not a single serving encounter, it's still like that...13 years later...

Janitor at a Middle School in Oakland, CA

I guess I just wanted to acknowledge the work that she was doing, cleaning the rooms where so many students spend time without thinking about who picks up after them. I ended up chatting with her twice as I was moving in between the two rooms that she cleaned in order. I couldn't tell whether she enjoyed my chatter or was not used to someone talking to her while she was working. Sometimes they are certain people who just seem to go unnoticed and sometimes I think it is nice to say hi and let them know that their work is appreciated.

Waiter at Pelican Brewery - Pacific City, OR

His name was Aaron. We figured that out because the hostess kept saying it as she seated other customers around us. We had driven for hours and hours down the WA and OR coasts on the beautiful highway 101. After checking in to a hotel we found out way to the Pelican Pub and Brewery, nestled right on the beach with a breathtaking view of an enormous rock, like the tip of an iceberg, poking out of the ocean as the pinks, yellows and reds of the sunset curled over the water. Aaron was a bundle of energy. He talked to us about our beer selections, the IPA is quite hoppy. He talked to us about the card game we were playing, he talked to us about his favorite band that came out of Oakland, he drew us a map to help us get back to I-5 on our way home. Each of these conversations was 2 minutes as he ran in and out and around the restaurant serving food, getting drinks, etc. They were all truly single serving encounters.

Crossing Guard

I stepped up to the corner of McArthur and Grand and I was met by a giant smile from a man holding an octagonal red sign on a stick in his hand. The crossing guard greeted everyone as they passed, stepping out a few feet into the intersection to assist the students (or anyone else for that matter) to pass safely in front of the cars. We had two minutes before the light changed and so I struck up a conversation. He loves his job, he hadn't worked since June and he knows a ton of the parents. He said, "It's great when you enjoy what you do." I nodded in agreement as the light changed and I stepped into the crosswalk on my way to the bus stop.

Your Single Serving Encounters

Still looking for more outside input. So post a single serving encounter here!

Man at Coffeeshop in Berkeley

He was so excited to serve us but also, so frantic because he was the only one serving at the cafe. Turns out he was Armenian but born in California.

Women at the bus stop

Waiting for the #88, the corner of Market and 40th in Oakland, CA. I had noticed the water splashed on the other side of the bench at the bus stop before I sat down, so when a woman came over to sit down I made sure to point out the wet spot to her so she wouldn't sit in it. She was a short heavy set African American woman with a matching black and blue outfit, light brown curly hair, a pink ipod case in her hand and a quarter sized dark mole on her upper left cheek. "My the weather is nice," she said. I perked up from my trance of staring off down the street, looking for the bus that was supposed to come. In the next five minutes we had several "pocket sized" conversations. The weather, her 12 year job at Berkeley where she makes $12.88 an hour, how today was her Friday, about her daughter losing her job and then going to back to college and taking care of her ailing grandfather...she is proud of her daughter. A man drove by in a tan Lincoln town car, rolled down the window and waver at her. "Right on time," he barked out the window. She told me that they see each other everyday when she is waiting for the bus and just like clockwork, he drives by.

UPS Woman

I had to call the UPS today to find out about picking up two packages. You never know what to expect when you call a help line, whether the person will be helpful or in a bad mood or something else. It was actually quite a pleasant experience, the woman was friendly and helpful. Sometimes when someone is nice in a customer service capacity it is a shock. But I wanted to make sure that she knew I appreciated her help so I thanked her and complimented her on her work. I could hear the smile on the other side of the phone. I don't think that people in that customer service type of industry are complimented enough if they do a good job...

Eeman

(I found this one in my writings from late 2007)

The shimmering lights gleamed brightly in the distance, a forest of small pinpricks under the dark nights sky. We could see Jerusalem, the WALL and Bethlehem from our vantage point in front of an old sandstone Greek monastery perched on the hillside; even the lights of Jordan were visible just over the horizon. We were bathed in darkness, the only lights illuminating us came from the headlights of passing cars speeding down the winding road, buses bringing hundreds of workers home and large semi-trucks transporting heavy stone blocks. But one car didn't pass us by. Its lights pulled up in front of us and the driver immediately stepped out. Ziad walked towards the front passenger door as it slowly inched open. The short scarf-wrapped body emerging to find itself enfolded in her uncle's embrace, the two bodies lit up periodically by the passing headlights or shrouded in shadows under the twinkling night sky.

I was standing 8 feet away, my vision obscured by the darkness and infrequent pulsating passing lights but the emotions that erupted around the two embraced forms smacked into my heart and brought a tear to the corner of my right eye. I stood silently off to the side until the hug ended. Ziad's niece, Eeman, had been in the Israeli prison for three and a half years; he hadn't seen her in that entire time and thus, for this one moment, he stayed in Palestine a few extra days before his next trip to the United States.

After shaking hands with the four men including her father, two brothers and uncle who had gone to the border in Tulkrem to pick her up, I stood waiting shyly behind the other American who had come with Ziad and his nephew Nidal to meet them on the outskirts of Bethlehem. We were introduced to Eeman one by one and she quietly extended her hand to greet me, her eyes lifting up in the darkness that my vision had adjusted to slightly. I could see the strength and what I can only describe as relief and happiness at being free mirrored in their reflection.

Doña Maria

(I found this one in one of my journal's from the Guatemala years 2004-2007)

Mateo and I leisurely climbed up a curving, very rocky and holey road in the community of Nuevo por Venir toward the radio location that Mateo had pointed out. As we rounded a corner we came upon a throng of people in front of what must have been the school. As my head crested the horizon, all eyes swung around and stared as “the gringo” entered the village. My pace slowed to the speed of a snail as my own gaze took in the hundreds of eyes fixed on my huge lumbering form. This all was definitely a little intimidating. This is the usual reaction of the people whenever I enter a village and yet, though I have become used to this response, it still makes me stare up into the sky as if there is something interesting to look at up there or find a rock on the ground that definitely needs careful scrutiny. This meeting turned out to be regarding a huge land dispute within the community. Before I could start feeling too awkward a woman came running at us since she recognized Mateo and whisked us off to her home. This turned out to be doña Maria and she took us down to, what was actually her parents home since we learned later that part of the land dispute in the community involved Maria's home being taken from her.

Later that evening we huddled in the small kitchen with doña Maria, her mother, 6 children, and the usual array of chickens and dogs. . The family is so poor, that was evident from their home, their clothing, and the stories that Maria told us over the course of the next few hours. Yet Maria invited us in with no hesitation, with no thought of compensation (she turned us down when we offered to pay a little for dinner), with no ulterior motives, just to share a small bit of food and conversation. She invited us in with the simple yet prevalent phrase in Guatemala, “pase adelante, hay agua para lavar” (come on in, there is water to wash [your hands].) This one phrase would turn into many thoughts for me during the trip as I contemplated the hospitality and openness of Guatemalan communities. We shared a simple yet exquisite meal of scrambled eggs and tortillas while we talked. I only spent those few hours with the family but I will never forget them...

Trader Joe's Guy

I had gum surgery today and so basically can only mumble out a few words if I really have to. We went to Trader Joe's to buy some fruits and yogurt so that I can make smoothies this week. When we got up to the register Marcella wasn't really paying attention as the cashier greeted us. I grunted and then poked her so that someone would respond. She responded and told him about my situation. He smiled and told us a story about how his uncle had surgery in his mouth years ago and they put a McDonald's cheeseburger in a blender for him. The uncle didn't eat it and the family had intended it as a joke...but this guy made us smile (I almost let a laugh escape at the ridiculousness of the story but that would have hurt)

Lady at Kaiser Permanente

Yesterday I went to the doctor with my temporary identification paper with my new last name on it and my old drivers license as a picture ID. When I walked up to the desk to show my idea, I, again, was a little flustered and tried to explain why I had two ID's with different names. The woman laughed and said she wished that she could find a man who would take her last name...Now that's two women in the last week who have made that comment. It made me smile.

Single Serving...

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