I Want to Be Like the Newspaper Guys

Yesterday I nearly bust out in tears on some poor, innocent parking lot attendant when he told me he couldn’t accept my SmarTrip card or VISA – only cash. After driving for what seemed like forever in DC traffic (in reality, only about an hour), I had arrived at the Vienna Metro station only to find absolutely NO parking available. I contemplated parking in a reserved space and dealing with the consequences later. Instead, I drove on to the next Metro station hoping to find parking there. After more crazy DC traffic, colorful language (moving here has provided no incentive whatsoever to curb this), and coming to grips with the fact that I was going to miss my 9:30AM meeting on the Hill, I finally arrived at the next station. The situation was exactly the same: absolutely no parking (except for those damn reserved parking spaces, which are SOOOO tempting!)

As I pulled out of the Metro lot, across the street there was a sign: “Metro Parking $4”. I scurried over and found myself in the situation I opened with – at the end of my rope and about to cry when I was told they only accepted cash. Kindly, the parking attendant pointed me in the direction of an ATM and allowed me to park my car temporarily while I retrieved the necessary cash. After paying for my space, I drove into the garage and let the tears fall. I suppose I wasn’t crying so much out of the frustration of DC traffic, the parking situation, or the fact that I had missed my meeting. I think I just needed to let myself release all the pent up emotion that has come with starting over in DC. I don’t want to go back to my familiar, comfortable life, but sometimes it’s really hard to be here.

This morning, though I left ½ an hour earlier than yesterday, I once again sat in insane traffic. Thankfully, when I finally arrived at the Metro station I was able to get a parking spot on the top floor of the parking garage. Yay! The African American “Newspaper Guys” whom I have come to know and love, stood at the entrance of the station, passing out the "Express" and wishing everyone a good day. I didn’t want a paper, but that didn’t matter; I still received a warm, exuberant, “You have a nice day now, you hear?”

In a place where the sheer number or people is overwhelming (most noticeable on the Metro during peak hours, when you feel like a herd of cattle) and everyone seems to be consumed in their own world, the newspaper guys are a striking source or joy, beautiful simplicity and Christ-like love. Yeah, love. I know that’s a strong word to use, and maybe I’m wrong; maybe their actions are not motivated by love. Yet, reading between the lines, every morning they stand at the Metro entrance and communicate a message to people that says: “You are valuable; you are worth a moment of my time, regardless of your S.E.S. (Socio-Economic Status), race, gender, age, position etc. AND regardless of whether or not you accept what I offer....” And isn’t that the crux of the gospel message? I’ve decided that I want to be more like the newspaper guys.