Days go by.
My shifts at the restaurant are always the same. Every time I walk into the kitchen to pick up someone's order, I see him sitting there in the lobby. He is just resting there, an older man dressed in ragged winter clothes. The man's hair looks as if he hasn't showered in weeks.
Whenever I walk by him, I always feel sympathy for this man; I am always thinking of how fortunate I am to have the things I have, such as food to eat when I'm at home, nice clothes to wear, and a bed to sleep in at night. When there are others out there wishing they could have food, I have just about everything that I want and need.
I wait tables at the restaurant inside the Nullagvik Hotel, which was first opened in 1975 by NANA Regional Corp. in coastal Kotzebue, Northwest Arctic Alaska's windswept trade and transportation hub. In recent years, NANA has constructed a brand-new, 70-room, seven-suite hotel. The Nullagvik is a decent place to work. Normally, though, townspeople do not eat at this hotel because, at $30.95 for a rib-eye steak entree, it is rather expensive. I still meet a whole lot of local people working there as a waitress, though. The tips are nice, too. For example, one Sunday just one table left me a $60 tip!
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As I keep passing this man in the hotel lobby, I decide I want to do something nice for him. I think I might buy him dinner, but I just don't know how to approach him.
Every time the bell rings, signaling another meal ready for me to serve to diners, I walk into the kitchen and pass this man who looks down on his luck. He is always wearing the same winter clothing, sitting there in a soft-cushioned, blue chair. I don't blame him; the chair looks comfortable. It's also better than braving the Arctic coast's fierce winter winds raging just outside the lobby's door. I wonder what he is thinking. The face he makes, his squinting expression of sadness, pain and loneliness, makes me want to cry.
I start walking towards him, but my insides are trembling. I'm not sure if he will say yes to my offer of food or if he even will acknowledge me. Walking slowly, I arrive at his space. As I stand in front of him, I panic, and end up walking into the women's bathroom instead. I look in the mirror. I tell myself that this will be worth it in the end. I walk out of the bathroom and move straight to the old man's side.
"Are you hungry?" I ask in a low voice.
He looks at me with surprise, and then a gratified look spreads across his face. Quickly he replies with a vast smile on his face.
"Yes," he replies.
As I am walking him to an empty table in the hotel dining room, all I can notice is this man's smile. I sit him down close to the television and order him the best meal of the night: prime rib with baked potato, vegetable, and a roll. I am beginning to feel his happiness. When I see that, it melts my heart. I keep checking on him as I wait on my other tables.
"Is everything okay, sir?" I ask, as I would with any other customer. "Can I get you anything else?"
Every time I come to his table, he cannot stop thanking me.
I believe acts of human kindness should become universal, because they benefit both the giver and the receiver. According to some health researchers, acts of kindness can ease pain -- for the giver! -- from headaches to back pain, and they might even be able to bring down a person's high blood pressure.
If we all can do something to make someone else happy, as small as it might be, we can make the world a better place. Giving someone a simple smile, saying a hearty "Good morning!" or offering some spare change or paying a compliment, these tiny acts of kindness can change someone's mood for a whole day.
Small things people do for one another, when added together, can change the world.
Katherine Stein-Booth wrote this commentary as a student at Kotzebue High School, where her activities included cheerleading. She attended the Rural Alaska Honors Institute during summer 2014 at the University of Alaska Fairbanks, and she plans on going to college in the fall.
The preceding essay is part of a series written by volunteer students participating in the Chukchi College Honors Program, a dual-credit partnership between the Northwest Arctic Borough School District and Chukchi College, the Kotzebue branch of the University of Alaska Fairbanks. This essay is distributed by Chukchi News & Information Service, an award-winning publication project of Chukchi College.
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com.