[ Blessing Beyond Borders ]

Blessing Beyond Borders

By Jordon Shinn

(based on a true story)

On Wednesday, October 3, 2007, I attended the International Expo, held on the Library Lawn from 10:00am-2:00pm. In between classes, I was in a hurry. Little did I know, I would soon become part of something bigger than myself…

Wandering from the normal flow of traffic on the campus walk, and onto the lawn to mingle amongst the many cultural tables and vendors; the Chinese; the Indian; the Japanese, each selling their own assortment of various dazzling and exotic ethnic merchandise (pseudo-fine wall décor of imitation silk and colored string with small plastic beads of earth-tones and gold-tinted cheap but shiny metal trinkets), all of which I have no use; hunger struck. And I was flat out of cash.

Fortunately for me, there was a large white tent set up by the walk with a register to swipe student I.D.’s in exchange for so many tickets, each worth a dollar. So, I decided to hit-up my meal plan. But the question at hand was how many tickets to get, which depended on what I wanted to eat, which depended on what was available, which wasn’t much.

Unfortunately for me, it was late in the day, as I had just gotten out of my 12:30pm class and was traveling in that five-minute time gap between classes. Being the tail-end of the Expo, most of the food had already been sold and eaten. The clubs were packing up; my options getting thin. The few tables that still had food (and that I wanted to eat, mind you) were the Indian table, which only had $1 cups of cantaloupe juice left (I’ve never liked cantaloupe) and McAlester’s, who was selling three-course meals for $6.00. Now this upset me, because of course McAlester’s is going to have food when the small student-clubs, using member-dues and crock-pots to cook their food, run out. “Besides,” I reasoned, continuing the tangent in my head, “McAlester’s is a restaurant here in town, so why are they at the International Expo anyway!?”--some people will do anything to make a buck. I frowned.

Anyhow, I was hungry, and unsure of how many tickets to buy as I made my way to the tent, groping into my back pocket for my wallet (which was wedged by both the grasp of my skinny jeans to my butt and the awkwardness of my jagged keys wedged between my wallet and my jeans (and no, I don’t have a big butt!)) But as I handed my I.D. to the Indian guy working the register, I was struck upside the head by a blow of sudden kindness--just then, a girl walked up holding three $1 tickets. Seeing that I was about to purchase some, she handed me hers! “It’s my blessing to you,” she said. Evidently, she had bought too many and so was going to exchange them. “Wow,” I thought, “I’m all about trying to save a buck, and here, this girl just hands me three!”

Charged by such a random-act-of-kindness, I took back my card and stormed over to the Indian table (after gratefully thanking and hugging the kind girl, of course (I always hug girls, of course)) and asked for some cantaloupe juice; “non-alcoholic cocktail,” the kind Indian girl explained. “Heck,” I thought aloud, “I’ll try anything once, and if it’s good: twice.” But the clock was ticking, and I was hungry. Actually, the Library bells (speakers, really) had already rung for 1:30; I was late for class. “But I can stomach the consequences,” I thought, “if I can only stomach some food.”

Standing at the Indian table, I looked across to my right. Ironically, the next table over was McAlester’s, full of good-smelling grub; gravy-smother brisket, chunky mashed potatoes, buttery rolls; but I held-fast, turning away. The Indian table, on the other hand, had already started shutting down, having run out of food (that is; except for a few crock-pots half-full of plain white rice I spied sitting on the ground next to a trashcan behind the table, alongside the rest of the group’s merchandise which was being busily packed away (all while my juice was being poured)).

My gaze shifted back to the girl. “I’ll take some rice, too,” I half asked her, staring into a perplexed face and speaking the thought materializing in my mind, as she handed me a cup full of clear-orange drink, in which suspended carrot-looking shavings of cantaloupe. Confused, she told me that they were out of the main-dish; that in her country, rice is only a staple crop they don’t eat plain. “Well,” I coyly replied, handing her a dollar-ticket for the cocktail (or whatever that stuff was), “this is America, and I’m hungry.”

Reluctantly, another Indian girl behind the table, listening in on the conversation, began stuffing the rice (probably destined for the trash), into a Styro-foam container. “Here, take this…for free,” she said, with pity in her voice, handing me the container. “No, ma’am!” I replied, grabbing it from her hands and exchanging it with “my” two remaining tickets. It was spend-now-or-spend-never, and besides, I’ve always liked supporting International students (someday, I, too, hope to study-abroad).

…So, through a sort-of second-hand altruism, I paid two bucks for a container of trash-destined rice, while really; I just passed on a blessing.