How many of us ever give a thought to the person washing the dishes when we go out to eat? I like to think that I'm mindful of everyone in the chain of services that provide me with what I have come to think of as a pretty comfortable life. I like to think that, because I too have been the one toiling quietly and unnoticed in my past, not unlike Neil Alan Smith. And I am fortunate to have called men much like him my friends.
And so, I found it deeply offensive when, in response to his obituary, someone chose to comment in the St. Petersburg Times,
A man who is working as a dishwasher at the Crab Shack at the age of 48 is surely better off dead.
How sad. To think that someone could be so callous to feel ok about posting this for anyone to see is really disheartening. To their credit, the paper wrote a wonderful article in response to this remark, and removed the post as well. But it made me think that maybe I haven't been as appreciative lately of folks who labor harder with their bodies than I, and for less money, and in doing so, make my life simpler, better, and more comfortable.
And I was also reminded of a coworker from several years ago. He was a dishwasher at the restaurant I worked at in NC. Before coming to the US, he had a series of far more "respectable" jobs in Mexico, but as an immigrant worker, his choices were far fewer here. I recall how one New Year's Eve, he cut his hand on a knife in the sink, and he needed to get stitches. My roommate and I were hosting a party, and had guests already at our apartment, but this coworker needed help. We took him to the ER, but with questions about both his ability to pay and his residency status looming, the wait was growing longer and longer. In the end, I wound up at a convenience store buying first aid supplies, with which I managed to get his hand patched up.
While I'm no longer in touch with him, that coworker became a friend that night, and he opened my eyes to a reality I'd not have had the benefit of seeing without his friendship. Among many other things, I learned about how he sent most of his earnings back home to help support his family (and in hopes of them joining him some day). He is now a citizen, and the last time I saw him he was working in another restaurant (owned by a member of his family, also an immigrant and naturalized citizen). We shared many beers together after long, difficult nights at work. We shot pool. He taught me a litany of bawdy words in Spanish (and enriched my Spanish vocabulary in more productive ways as well).
So, the next time I pop open a beer, I think I'll drink a toast to dishwashers everywhere. And then one to my old friend. And finally, I'll drink a toast to Neil Alan Smith. To a quiet man who did what he needed to do, lived a simple life, and who made it possible for people like me to be just a bit more comfortable. Cheers to you, Mr. Smith!
