Finding angels in diners and bars.

On encountering kind strangers whose timely care saved me.

I may no longer believe in God in the Christian sense, but I believe there are truly angels on Earth. People like you and me see the trouble behind someone’s eyes and jump into action to save the day. People who may or may not know your name, anything about your history, and people who may never see you again after this moment in time that your paths crossed.

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Photo by Christian Chen on Unsplash

In the diner.

One such moment happened years ago for me. I was in a deep depression, undiagnosed, and wrestling with my faith. I had visited a new church that morning, and on the visitor’s card, I noted that I was struggling with and questioning my faith and was seeking further counseling even though I knew nothing much would come from doing this, based on previous experiences. I left the service, my heart heavier than when I entered, and walked to a nearby diner to have a quick bite before going to volunteer.

The diner is an award-winning, touristy place. It was tightly packed and had mostly only bar-style seating. I am sitting down eating, and in walks a group of white people. I specify race here because it matters. It was evident from the time they sat down next to me that my presence was not appreciated, even though they chose to sit there instead of waiting for another spot to open. I was the only Black person around, and the group seemed to be friendly to everyone but me. One woman, in particular, seems like she's purposely bumping into me. The place is packed, but not so packed that you have to bump into someone not in your party continuously. She frequently adjusts herself and her seating, scooting her chair into me. She is repeatedly fixing her hair so that it flings ever so slightly near my food, even as I move it over. And I keep catching her staring at me with a stern look.

There is an elderly woman of color on the other side of me, eating with her grandson simultaneously. In my agitation, I did not notice that she was also observing the white woman’s behavior and was trying to help keep me distracted in her way. She’d occasionally smile at me and ask a random question in the way elders do. “How are you dear?” she asks, “What’s that book you got there?” she inquires. I am not in the mood to speak to anyone, especially now that I need to be hypervigilant as I sit and eat, so I don’t engage with her as much as I normally would have.

“I’m good. I just came from church and bought this book on the way here. Just trying to catch a quick breakfast before finishing my day.” I say, internally flustered and panicked. Annoyed by my silence.

I was not a great advocate for myself back then. I had not yet felt comfortable immediately using my voice to speak of my discomfort at the hands of someone else. I didn't want to let myself get angry because I knew that I was already not in the greatest mood, so I was more agitated and irritable than normal. Paranoia during these low times ran rampant for me, and I convinced myself that I was tripping. Or maybe they were foreigners with different customs and manners. I quickly shut that down because these folks had American English accents.

I start to let myself believe that it is all in my head until she goes to grab a drink. In this diner, you have to get your drinks from the cooler. Upon turning in her seat, her legs give me a quick kick, and I see red. I have no choice but to finally speak up for myself, saying, “An excuse me would be lovely next time.” She feigns shock and says, “Oh, excuse me,” with an obviously fake smile. She doesn’t notice that her face is still visible to me as she proceeds to turn and roll her eyes and make a face to one of the other white women in her group.

At this point, I am beyond livid, and I have lost my appetite. There’s a rage in me that bubbles up so suddenly and deeply, and I know I need to make my way out of there immediately as I don’t know what my next words or actions will be. I feel myself begin to cry, and I can’t let this woman see it. She has no idea that these tears are not tears of sadness. These tears are tears of rage that I can not drag her by the same hair she waved near my food, across the diner bar top. These tears are saving her life. I hurriedly asked the waiter for my check to pay for my food and leave quickly.

One minute feels like five. Five feels like ten. I’ve gone to the restroom, and the waiter has walked past me twice since I asked for my check. Once, I checked out the elderly woman sitting next to me, and a second time, I brought the rude lady next to my food. By this time, the elderly woman had paid her bill and was getting ready to leave, and I became even more agitated. “Can I have my check, please!" I quietly demand with attitude. "Oh, I don't know if I should say this,” the waiter starts to say with a big smile on his face, “but your bill has already been taken care of." As he says this, he points toward the elderly woman and her grandson as they are quickly making their exit.

I sat there confused and in awe, knowing I just had to thank her. I gently touched her as she walked away, and although I am too shocked for words, I know I thanked and hugged her and cried as we embraced. She says, "No, you're welcome, honey. I just want you to pay it forward, and God said whatever it is, stick with it, honey!" and walks off. As I'm sitting there stuck and thinking about what just happened, the waiter comes over to me and says, "She said you really made her day, and she admired your patience."

I know I looked crazy, smiling and sobbing and laughing all the way down F street.

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Photo by Sérgio Alves Santos on Unsplash

At the bar.

Another time an unexpected angel on Earth temporarily renewed my faith in humanity was in a bar. On the food delivery apps, it's a restaurant. But when you get to the place, you realize it's a bar cosplaying as a restaurant. It is complete with a dancefloor, DJ, and a couple of booths with patrons having more drinks than food.

I was trying to get out of my reclusive state and went to have a girl’s night with a close friend. She recommended this place after I said I wanted some good soul food. It is Friday night, and I’m already overwhelmed and overstimulated. I wanted to be back in my bed. Agitation ran through my body so much I could feel it in my bones, sadness so deep I felt at one with it. Men are being dickhead’s, telling jokes that aren’t appropriate or funny, my food was supposed to be ready twenty minutes ago, and the music is WAY too loud. A small scuffle is created near the dancefloor and is headed towards the door. A woman who is pissy drunk is trying to leave and drive herself home. It takes three people to calm her down and carry her to the back to prevent her from leaving. Madness. I became so uncomfortable I just wanted to say, “fuck this food,” and leave. And if it had only been mine, I likely would have just to escape.

Eventually, a woman sitting next to where I was standing started to look at me with a concerned look on her face. In the most nurturing voice, above the loud music, she says, “Baby, what’s wrong? I can see in your eyes that you’re so tired. I saw you look over, and I said Oh my God, that baby is so tired’ can I hug you?” If you know anything about me and the frequency in which I have meltdowns in public, you already know this starts the floodgates. I am sobbing all over this woman before I even know her name—a big, ugly, snot-nosed, shoulders-heaving cry. I know I was, yet again, looking crazy as she rubs my back and affirms me. “Whatever it is, honey, you’ll get through. Go ahead and get it out. I’m not going anywhere.” The more she’s talking and the softer her embrace feels, the harder I cry. Then, she starts to cry, so of course I have to cry some more. Oh, the drama.

Once the theatrics are over and I’ve calmed myself into quiet sniffles, she gives me her number. “Ashleigh, I’m Keisha, and you are now my friend, and if you ever need to talk, I don’t care what time it is or what it’s about, call me!”

I left the bar, not feeling better, but holding on to a bit of hope that things could better, and if they didn’t, at least I had loved ones and strangers alike as my angels here on earth.

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Currently.

Feeling — Meh. I’ve been almost failing at trying not to spiral. A wave of emotions: grief, frustration, anxiety, stress.

Reading — Still making my way through “Disrupted: My Misadventures In The Startup Bubble.”

Listening — Jazz has been the soundtrack for my writing the last couple of days, particularly Samara Joy. I’m late to the party but she is amazing.

Anticipating — Getting rid of all of my big items. The only things going into storage will be of sentimental value. Everything else will be sold, donated, or discarded.

Contemplating — What to say in this long as e-mail to my child’s father.

Affirming — Things will always work out for me.

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