A Visit Outside of my Comfort Zone

I had an assignment for one of my classes to go to an institution that dealt with social work, a place that was outside of my comfort zone, and write about it.

I went to the Community Crisis Center with my classmate, Eve:

We were met in the parking lot by a man in uniform. He was obviously an officer. Eve asked if we came to the wrong door. He said, “There is no wrong door.”I thought that was a telling statement about the welcoming nature of this place. When we walked into the waiting area there was a young bearded man slumped over, asleep in a chair near the door. The officer seated himself at a desk and continued listening to Jeopardy. The relic of a television mounted on the wall had a blank screen but there was sound emitting from it. The officer answered the question out loud and was correct. Eve and I were duly impressed. We spoke to him about who we were and why we were there and he stepped out of the room to talk to the night nurse about our presence.

A tall man with ragged long hair came in with a large backpack. He sat in the chair right next to me. I assumed he would have a strong smell. He didn’t, but it was uncomfortable. I made every effort not to stiffen. I thought of my introduction to Sociology class. We had a lesson on the unspoken rules of space in public areas. This guy smashed those rules to pieces. I decided ‘turn about’ is fair play. Since he’d broken the unspoken rules of space, I could respond appropriately. I asked him where he was from. All he said was one word, “Crow”.

It was then I noticed two things. First of all, he was Native American. His face was deep red and pock marked with an obvious Native nose, (which reminded me of my mom), and other Native American features. The second thing I noticed was that he was bleeding profusely from somewhere; there was blood on his fingers. I stood up, went into “Mom” mode and said, “You’re bleeding”.

He motioned to his nose and I immediately looked around the room, spied a box of Kleenex and handed him several. A nurse came in and led him into another room to a sink where he could clean up. Another nurse came out into the waiting room and asked us to come back and speak to her. She explained that because of confidentiality policy, she couldn’t have students drop in without prior permission. We assured her we would go but asked if we could make an appointment to come back. She said that would be great.

Before we left she gave us a pile of information about the impact of the economy on the Community Center. These numbers were impressive, but they were only numbers. I thought of the man I had just helped with his bloody nose. The fact that his needs were in jeopardy, (not the tv show), is what mattered. We chatted with the nurse for 10 minutes and she was appreciative of what we were doing. As we left, the Native man looked up at me. I smiled. I still remember the proud, doubtful look on his face. I knew I had connected, in a small way.
We were escorted back outside by the officer. He waited in the parking lot while we got in our cars and watched us drive away. I turned up the heat and thought of my new friend and the cold autumn night.