Laurel, The Very Bad Volunteer
When I was a sophomore in high school, a friend and I decided to volunteer with a local, health-related non-profit. (I’d like to say it’s because we were moved by a presentation during one of our school’s “development days” – when we were supposed to learn more about ourselves and the community, or something like that – but it probably had more to do with the fact that sophomore year was the time people started talking about “college applications” and “extracurricular activities” and “standing out.” Also, in fairness, I should probably only implicate myself in the resume-building motive. My friend was probably much more pure-hearted.)
Anyway, the volunteer job we ended up with involved delivering meals to homebound patients. And while this job probably sounds easy enough, we were pretty terrible at it. I blame two primary culprits:
- My complete lack of direction in neighborhoods I’d never visited before and
- Naked people.
We usually only had four or five meals to deliver each Saturday, and I really don’t think more than two ever made it to their intended destination. I also think we were pretty liberal with our definition of “lunch time.”
You see, as a newly-minted driver it turns out that I was pretty good at driving in Mountain Brook and going to and from my high school. Shockingly, most of the meals we were supposed to deliver were not 1. In the suburb of Mountain Brook or 2. Next to my high school.
In the dark ages, armed only with a paper map of Birmingham, we did our best, but I’m afraid our best was sorely lacking.
“Which exit do we take again?” I said.
“Greensprings,” my friend said. “I think.”
“You think?”
“It could be Green Valley. I’m not sure.”
Without a doubt, I’d usually miss both exits, and even if I found the right one, the side streets after that were nightmares. Many a volunteer run ended with me in near tears saying, “Are we ever going to get home?”
Unfortunately for the poor woman in charge of volunteers, each run also tended to wrap up with the return of at least one undelivered lunch.
Even without the trauma of navigation, I probably wouldn’t have lasted long as volunteer because of the latter aforementioned issue – naked people.
When we finally did find a house or apartment, my friend and I took turns going in to deliver the meals. (Someone had to stay in the car and try to get a head start on how we were going to get to our next destination.)
After knocking at one house, I heard a “come in” and went through the front door.
“Hi,” I said. “I have the meal you requested.”
“He’s in the back,” a young woman about my age said.
With the go-ahead to keep walking through a stranger’s house, I walked through the living room, down a hallway until I came to the first open door on the right. Inside was a very large and very nude man.
“Here’s your meal,” I said, not at all sure how I was supposed to respond in said situation (it, and maps, weren’t covered in the volunteer training), especially when he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’d found him naked. (We WASPs generally show great shame when caught without clothes on, so you can see how I would be confused.) I dropped the bag of food on a chair near the bed and high-tailed it out of there.
“How was it?” my friend said when I got back to the car.
“Naked,” I said. From then on, we agreed to go into all homes together.
A week or so later, we finally found our way to yet another house where we were directed to another back room. This time, we found a naked woman sitting straight up in bed.
“We have lunch,” my friend said.
“You seen my kids?” she said.
“Your kids?” my friend said.
“I think they’re out back. Go look.”
My friend (again, I suspect her motives were purer than mine) handed me the bag of food we had and went outside to start yelling for this woman’s children. While she was being a saint, I stared at the walls of the room I was in saying, “Would you like me to get your lunch out for you?” which was only met with, “I want to know where my kids are.”
At no time during this “conversation” did she ever try to cover herself or find clothes.
At the end of that day, I was pretty sure we had to talk to the volunteer coordinator. Only a month in, I was near burn-out level.
“You found a naked one,” she said, shaking her head almost in anticipation of my concerns. “We just have some patients that won’t wear clothes.”
Eventually, we didn’t get very many calls to deliver meals (shocking, I know) and soccer season started, so our tenure as volunteers came to an end. However, one of my most vivid memories of being lost is sailing through the red light where 5th Avenue South divides – one side headed to Eastwood and the other to Woodlawn – with my hands in the air. “Where on earth are we?”
I had no idea what a common part of town I was in or how close that major thoroughfare was to my own home, downtown and many, many businesses. I was just a tired, lost 16-year-old that really wanted a route with more clothed people on it.
Sometimes it can be hard to believe that 15 years later, I live less than a mile from the very same intersection and drive through it at least three or four times per week. (It's a necessary part of my many, many trips to Home Depot.)
I’d like to say I’ve learned a lot in that time, but I think the truth is that the most important info I’ve picked up along the way is that there is a light there, and it’s better to go on your way once it’s turned green.
Part 2: My Top 10 TV Tearjerkers
Picking up right where we left off, with my great love for the fourth wall and all, here's the second part of my list:
5. Medium: Very Merry Maggie
So, I dig the shows where people talk to dead people. I can't help myself. In this one, the D.A., Manuel Devalos, and his wife Lily are dealing with the anniversary of their daughter's death. The wife has hired a supposed psychic to communicate with their daughter, and the D.A. becomes very angry. He then asks Alison about his daughter but all she does is write down the name of a place without realizing it.
Later, as Devalos and his wife are driving to visit their daughter's grave, they get into an argument. The wife thinks she should have come alone. They pull the car over. (Right past a sign with whatever word Alison had written down.) Devalos argues that when people are dead, they're just dead, and that's all there is to it. He can't get on board with his wife's need to believe in more.
They're out of the car having this argument, when they walk into a field of white zinnias (their daughter's favorite flower) blooming in the middle of January. And for a moment, they both believe and know their daughter is somewhere else, and she's OK.
It kills me. Every. Single. Time.
4. Dawson's Creek: All Good Things ... Must Come to an End
I won't lie to you. I stopped watching Dawson's Creek after season four. Season three was awesome -- Pacey buys Joey a wall, Pacey pulls the car over to kiss Joey after her disastrous weekend with college boy, Joey kisses Pacey while "Daydream Believer" plays in the background at Dawson's aunt's house, Pacey and Joey dance at the anti-prom and he knows that the bracelet she's wearing is her mother's and it all ends with the two of them taking off on a boat for the summer. It was perfect.
And then they went and f-ed it all up. They broke up Pacey and Joey. They made Joey and Dawson sleep together. (One word: ew.) Oliver Hudson shows up. Eh.
None of that means I was going to miss the end of a show I had loved very, very deeply. Plus, I had to believe that Pacey and Joey would finally end up together after all of that other nonsense.
What I didn't count on was them giving Jen a heart condition five years in the future. It was destined to be a train wreck. The scenes between all of the characters were too much for me, but when Jack tells Jen that she belonged to him, I really lost it. I still have this on VHS -- that's how attached to it I am.
3. ER: Dr. Greene's Death
I can't narrow this one down to a single episode, but let's just say that I did not handle Dr. Greene's terminal cancer very well. My roommate at the time threatened to keep me from watching ER because every episode ended with my face swollen and red from tears. Anthony Edwards is one fine actor.
Then came Hawaii and "Somewhere Over The Rainbow." I still think it's some of the best writing that ever was on television.
2. Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Becoming
Now, I had plenty of Buffy moments, too. After all, they killed Buffy off in the end of season five. What kind of show kills off its own main character?!?! Then, they brought her back, but she was miserable because she'd been in heaven that whole time -- not hell, as her friends had assumed. They kill Buffy's mom. They sent Giles away. They killed Kendra, Anya and Tara. This was not a show that it was wise to watch if you became easily attached to characters.
However, the end of season two is one of the most dramatic in the entire series. Angel, the love of Buffy's life, has no soul because they slept together, and he experienced a moment of perfect happiness, so he lost his soul because of an old Gypsy curse. (That makes complete sense, right?) He's been super evil since, hanging out with his old bad vampire buddies and all, and Buffy has been miserable.
Then, when Angel finally gets his soul back, it's after he's begun the process of opening the hell mouth, and the only way for Buffy to close it is by driving a sword through her now soul-restored great love.
My phone rang immediately after the episode ended, and there was no talking on the other line, but I automatically knew it was my friend Margaret, and she and I both just cried into the phone for a good 20 minutes. My high school soccer coach gave me a condolence card the next day because he knew how much I watched the show. For a teenage girl, that one was beyond rough, and I don't own the series DVDs today because I'm not sure I could handle it much better now either.
1. Lost: The Final Journey
Why is this one number one on my list? Because I'm still not over it. Literally. I've watched it three times and still just keep on crying. I've thought of turning to message boards to work out my emotions. Jack and his dad. Jack and Kate. Sawyer and Juliet. The dog. My list goes on and on. After all, I'm the girl who cried for an hour when Charlie died, and I'd know for three months that Charlie was going to die. You can hardly say it was the shock that got to me.
Say what you want to about Lost, but I think this show was phenomenal and forever changed the way television is made. Who knew what you could even do on the small screen before Lost? The cast of characters. The complexity. The acting. Come on.
I also think for those of us who tend to get a little attached and over-think, what this episode/series was really all about -- redemption and peace, is pretty powerful. I think what the creators of the show did manage to give the viewers -- for all of the characters -- is beyond impressive. I'd say more, but those final two and half hours speak for themselves, and I'm already a little misty as I type over here.
Should I ever get to the point where I can have a conversation about the show that doesn't involve crying, I'll let you know. Until then, I've just given you all of my kryptonite in a way. Want to keep me away from your party or make sure I stay home knitting for a few days? Just put one of these on the television. I'll be useless for days.