Maybe God Just Likes Sushi

For the past six months I've been tutoring at the Literacy Council on King St. down in Lancaster. I like doing it and my student, Macu, is great. We laugh a lot and tell stories; I'm sure I've learned as much as she has. In fact, I like everything about tutoring except the parking.



The parking has been a problem.



I try to parallel park there on King St. because if you go in the lot across from the Literacy Council it costs $4 and if you park on the street it's only $2. At first I was a little intimidated by the parallel parking, but really, all those cars that are in such a hurry can just wait. It doesn't take me that long and now that I'm back in practice, I'm in good form and pretty good at it. I even get a little zing of satisfaction from parking so well.



If you look up and down King St., there are all kinds of characters and types and colors of people. But you can tell that mostly they're poor and you get the sense that it's a pretty hard-scrabble life for many of them. I've never felt threatened there, but then again, I wouldn't want to be alone on King St. at 10 pm either.



The problem with the parking, though, is the meter system that's been recently installed. There's a central parking machine where you have to enter your parking spot number and then feed in money to pay for the amount of time you think you'll be there. In my case it's $2 for an hour and a half of parking.



The problem is that sometimes the damn machine takes your money and sometimes it doesn't. I usually have 2 dollar bills ready because I don't want to be standing there on King St., with my wallet out trying to fish out the right change. The issue is that, sometimes, the stupid machine will take the first dollar, but not the second one. You can either try to re-insert that second dollar, or, try to find another one. But if you're not fast enough, the f*&king machine will just start over. And you've lost the first dollar. Plus, now you have to find two more dollars.



Now, this machine does give you a receipt with a phone number to call for a refund. Yeah, right, you're going to go through all the trouble and punch in all those numbers on your phone for a dollar.



But this stupid machine taking my dollar.....it's happened a lot. I think I have a one dollar refund ticket in every pocket of every jacket and coat I own.



One Thursday recently, I was wrangling with the stinking machine on the other side of King St., in front of Jason's Clothing Store, across the street from the Literacy Council. I had my usual stack of books and my two dollars in hand. As has happened so many times before, the idiot machine took the first dollar and not the second, even after trying to quickly re-insert that second one several times. Why won't it take my money???!!!



I was so frustrated and so pissed that I slam down the books, I slam down my purse, I say really bad words and I'm almost stomping up and down when this guy behind me asks, "Are you having a hard time?"



I turn around and see this Hispanic-looking guy who's about 40 or 50. He has a little goatee and mustache, oiled black hair slicked back, and he's leaning against the window of Jason's. He's casually smoking a cigarette and looking a little amused.



I'm not amused.....not amused at all. At first a thought blips through my mind about whether I really want to talk to this guy. I don't have a clue who he is or what his intentions are. For all I know, he could have a gun or be a gang member, or he could just be a smart aleck getting his kicks watching me explode. I just don't know.



But I don't think he's any of those things and his question is actually quite sympathetic, so I say, "yeah, I'm having a hard time," and then tell him my tale of woe ending with "if it were the only time I've lost a dollar it would be one thing, but it's not, it's the 7th or 8th time."



This is when he looks at me and very gently says, "Honey, you just need to take a look around you."



Oh my God! Oh my God! He's so right! Every direction I look there are people who probably can't even afford a car. Or food. And think of their daily frustrations. Oh my God.



Light sort of flashes around my head and I tell him he's right, of course he's right. I thank him for reminding me.



As I cross the street, tears swimming in my eyes, that song from a few years ago by Joan Osborne starts playing in my head:



What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home.



If God had a face
What would it look like?.......



For the next couple of days, I hold this thought and this experience in my mind. I can hardly tell anyone about it because it makes me so emotional and tears well up just thinking about it. I like it, too, though, because I feel like I've been given a major flash of insight.



This story could end right here, yes, it could tie up so neatly.....comfortable, middle-aged woman gains perspective on the human condition and feels extremely fortunate. Which is true.



But......



The next Tuesday when I go to King St., armed with my new-found insight, I park in the same parking spot right there in front of Jason's Clothing Store....spot number 14. I feel such calmness and equanimity. But then when I try to put my dollars into that crap-o machine, it does that same trick.....spits out my second dollar and I have to hunt for another dollar so my spot will have enough time paid for. But I'm never quick enough and so, of course, end up with another refund ticket.



Well, I realize my anger is really not so much about the money. It's really about that stupid machine and the frustration of dealing with it.



This new realization kind of tarnishes my whole "God" concept.



But as I'm huffing and puffing about it, my guy shows up again. I'm guessing he works there at Jason's, or maybe he's even Jason himself, and has been enjoying quite the entertainment watching people handle that stinking machine.



We have another conversation where he suggests that I save all my refund tickets, call them all in at once, collect my money and then go out for sushi.



This time I'm able to laugh and agree. Sushi would be a good way to use all that refund money. And then he says, "Heck, wait til you get enough of them, and then I'll go out for sushi with you." Oh yes!



Since then, I'm actually a little sad to say, I've figured out how to beat that system, that damn machine that wants to take all my money. I use a dollar and 4 quarters. First I put in the dollar and if the machine takes that, then I put in the quarters, which the machine always accepts.



Since I've figured this out, every time I've parked, this has worked out just fine. But just standing at that machine, the song always goes through my head again....."What if God was one of us?......" and I wonder if maybe it's just that God likes sushi.