Meg Describes her Meal Delivery Experience

January 2006 - On the subway from Brooklyn going to Times Square to do Meals on Wheels. It’s days like today that make you want to stay home, go back to bed. I mean, it is NASTY out there, the rain is poruing down and I gotta go to Times Square? This is a choice, I tell myself. I WANT to do this.

I arrive at the center pretty much on time and they ask me if I mind going out alone. Nope, I don’t mind, can move faster through the crowds. I look at my route sheet and see that I am off at the Woodstock. This is a short route, good for one person. There are 8 people at the Wood Building, and only three other stops after that.

Walk out of the meal center and head down 49th towards Times Square. The rain is constant. Hard to use an umbrella pulling the rolling cart with the food stacked up. I opt for my favorite Amelia Earnhardt cap + scarf instead. The sidewalks are filled with tourists standing there, looking up and around, soaking in the city or crosswalkers, people who walk in erratic patterns.

Kinda crazy that the Wood Building is right here, to be honest. Feels leftover somehow. The world is going crazy around it-construction being done right across the street, the ball dropping just a block away. Broadway shows. But here it sits, frozen in time, likeyou gotta blow some of the dust off. When you walk in there is this odd, kinda surreal Christmas scene full of little holiday characters dressed as santa and elves, little trees and shrubs.

The first stop is on the 10th floor. It is best to prep everything before knocking on the door. You get ready two bags of cold stuff-one with a can of vegetables, a can of tuna, some tomator juice and the other has milk, bread, half a grapefruit and some more cold food. Then, there is the hot meal-this week it looks like chicken, spinach and potatoes. Still warm.

Having been on this route before, I am excited to see the same people. Lucy is so pretty. Her hair is brushed, her face done up with red glowing cheeks and colored lips. She is wearing a red velvet robe while she instructs me where to put the food.

My favoirte, or shall I say most intersting stop on the route is Barbara. This woman is a pip to quote my dad. She also wore a floor lenght robe but this is more reminiscent of an Italian apron dress. Her door is covered in religious cards and articles, which I like to read before ringing. Well, once the dorr opened, I could see that Barbara was in quite a state. She said, “Don’t ask me how I am doing because you won’t like the answer”, or something like that. She was moved from a 2 bedroom, she says. So her one room apartment is floor to ceiling boxes and piles and piles of papers. While talking to me about her problems, she was reaching into some boxes, fishing out things to just give me, feed the children pamphlets, a Parade Magazine Sunday paper insert from a few weeks back (some good articles she says) and finally , a cross necklace. She got it from the Covenant House on 17th Stree; guess she likes to collect stuff. Even though it was an interesting conversation, I was trying to find a polite exit strategy because I had to finish the route. So, after the final God Bless You, I split. Nice lady.

Just next door lives a large black gentleman by the name of John. When you knock on his door and announce who you are, he tells you tome in and pus food on the table. His apartment is much cleaner, more sparse. He must fancy himself a looker because he was just sprawled out on his bed like Monet’s Olympia but fully clother. Quite a scene. All the other stops went smoothly.

After leaving this building, the rain was really coming down and the wind was kicking in. My hat + scarf were soaked, jeans drenched up to the knees. I found myself losing patience as I did the last three stops. Times Square had come to a stand still. But after dropping off the empty rolling car, even soaked to the bone I still had a feeling of happiness. Life is composed of time and money in this city, we either use our time to make money or spend it, it seems. It is refreshing to use my time to do neither, to just do for fomeone else. To get out of my own minutie and see that there is a huge world out there and it ain’t just about you. It is about helping someone out, someone who is real sweet, who is as individual as the next.