First Day of Line Watcher Training

On Tuesday, I came the closest I ever have to a fight in the garden at the Hippie Kitchen. Currently, I am in training for line watching. I have to be aware of people cutting in line, fighting or leaving their spot in line. If a fight breaks out, I have to call another line watcher (a community member) to stop the argument. While I do not have the proper training and/or courage to put myself in a position to stop the arguments now, I will be one of those people in the future.

Sitting outside with Clare and Martha, I was learning about basic line watching skills (eyes on the line, always say "hi," communicate with other line watchers, etc.). While Martha was just a few feet away from me, I felt there was just enough space between us for me to have my own space to watch over as a rookie. And then I saw a streak out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see a man dump a cup of water on a woman in the garden, exchange nasty words, and then spit on her. By the time he was walking away, the woman started to walk after him. I knew from the second I saw the water hit her face that the situation would turn ugly very quickly; and when I realized that these actions did not correspond with the atmosphere of peace at the Hippie Kitchen, I anxiously called Martha's attention to the fight.

Martha, 53 years old and as gentle as anyone could be, hurriedly brought herself in between the man and woman. She waved her hands in small, nonthreatening circles, only saying, "Please don't. Please don't." The look on Martha's face expressed her dread for the situation, but more so it described her complete heartache that she should have to encourage peace. As if the man she stood in front of had personally let her down.

Meanwhile, I stood no more than 10 feet away wondering why I had not acted sooner. Why did I watch him spit on the woman? If I had called Martha just a second earlier, would the situation be much different? And just as these thoughts raced through my mind, I saw the woman struggling with a young man who jumped in as Martha did. The woman had picked up a pepper container (a glass bottle) off a nearby cart and threw it at the man who spat on her. The bottle crashed on the ground, and the woman ran out of the garden to the street.

Martha handed the remaining salt and pepper containers to me and asked me to bring them inside the kitchen. Her tone was firm but calm. I, on the other hand, could not control my anxiousness. I scurried inside the kitchen holding the two bottles and thrust them at the woman who was serving the main dish. "Take these!" I squeaked.

"What?" she replied, holding a plate full of beans in one hand and and a ladle in the other.

"Just take them!" I held the containers, looking at her with desperation. Seeing that she was not in a rush as I was, I shoved them towards another woman who was standing next to her. Still not knowing exactly what to do, I went back outside to see if there were more containers I could frantically pass around the kitchen, or if the garden was as it should be.

I found that Martha was no longer waving her hands, the woman had left, and the man seemed to be less aggressive. But right as the guard seemed to have been let down, he sprinted past me toward the door of the kitchen to cut through to the street. This time, Clare joined Martha in begging this man's cooperation. Only 21 years old, but full of the necessary power and confidence of a line watcher, Clare held her arms out and chanted, "Peaceful garden. Peace. This is a peaceful garden," over Martha's heart wrenching pleas. The man simply turned around and left for the street.

Taking a few deep breaths to bring myself back from the panicked few minutes, I only felt embarrassment. I did not help. I stood and watched. And when I was asked to help, I was an anxious mess. Am I suited for this job? I spoke with Martha later that day and received the affirmation I needed: I did do a good job; I took the containers as I was asked; I did not overstep my boundaries; I did not assume responsibilities as a trained line watcher would.

I have mixed feelings about my position as a potential line watcher, but the negative feelings are only based in fear: fear of failure, timidness, weakness. Now finishing my third day of line watcher training, I can notice on my own the skills I need to develop. I am excited to prove to myself and the community that I am strong enough to confront the men and women, but kind enough to offer friendship. I have no doubt that the training will continue to bring stories just as nerve-racking, but I know that I will grow stronger because of them.