Is giving back all that it’s cracked up to be?

I’ve never been the volunteering type. That was Bob’s world. Maybe his Catholic upbringing instilled in him the desire to “do good works” to ensure salvation. I, however, have always been much less religious and much more selfish. Until now.

I volunteered to help with the Wednesday Family Supper at my church this week. I though it would be another good way to assist others while helping me “get out there”. I had no idea what I was expecting, but it didn’t turn out however I expected.

I arrived at the church hall to find five lovely ladies, average age 80, already rolling silverware in paper napkins. I can do this. Later, we began to cut brownies and coconut and chocolate cake. I can do this, too. The church ladies then became very specific about how to arrange the cake plates and even more specific about how to fill the iced tea cups with ice. (I wasn’t doing it just right, I suppose, but under their eagle-eyed supervision, I was a quick learner.)

The real fun began with the arrival of the hot food – steaming noodles, beef stroganoff, baked chicken, rice, brussel sprouts (my favorite (NOT!)), corn, mixed vegetables, a full salad bar, and the aforementioned desserts. The church ladies all neatly moved over to the ice laden iced tea table, leaving me to assist the kitchen staff with the food service.

I need to now say that the temperature this week has hovered right around 100 degrees every afternoon, this day being no different. With the arrival of about 350 hungry parishioners, the temperature in the dining hall, rose there, as well. There I stood, noodle grabbers in one plastic gloved hand, stroganoff ladle in the other; hordes of hungry people of all ages standing at the doors. I was ready to meet them all. I can do this – meet strangers, smile and chit chat, make new friends. The wonderful anticipation of meaningful friendly interactions lasted about three minutes. That’s how long it took for the steam from the steaming noodles to begin to make me feel like I was in a Finnish sauna. The sweat began slowly at the back of my neck and soon flowed down my back; began springing out all over my now red-flushed face, beads dripping off my nose. My plastic covered hands were of no help and only served to assist me in getting more and more moist. The utter insanity of me sweating into the noodles and stroganoff continued for the long, hot, humid, full hour that I served food.

Finally, it was over. I was soaked from my shirt to my skin. My hair hung limp and frizzy. I felt like a deboned chicken. I had met no one, but I’m sure I made a huge, albeit poor, impression on the poor souls trying to eat.

I don’t think I have the stomach to continue to be a good volunteer for future Wednesday Night Church Suppers.