Two weeks ago in the mid-afternoon, I was sitting at the bar at the Porter Square Uno's drinking my usual dollar fifty draft while reviewing the readings for my upcoming evening class. All the usual barflies were there: Ponytail Guy, Merlot Lady, O'Doul's Guy, Rolls-His-Own-Cigarettes Guy, and Bird Flu Guy (I don't suspect he's a carrier - he was just reading a book about bird flu). Just picture an episode of Cheers with the sound turned down, and you've got Uno's at 4 p.m.
I don't know all their names, though we occasionally chat. The true pleasantries are up to Aaron, the afternoon bartender. Aaron has a gift at bartending. He knows every sport and every team backwards and forwards, he can talk politics without starting a fight, and he knows every regular's name and some facet of their life that he can ask about during the course of conversation. He also knows how to leave you alone when you'd rather just read the newspaper or study for an exam.
Back to two weeks ago. I'd just come back from spring break and hadn't warmed my usual stool in more than a week. As soon as I walked in, Aaron knew to pour me a tall Killian's. "There you go, Kevin," he said as he put it on a coaster. Kevin? How could he forget my name? Had I made that little of an impression? I'd only been coming there every day this year. My grandmother's forgotten my name before, but she usually confuses it with my uncle's name. She and my uncle get along really well, so I consider it a compliment. This, however, was truly shocking. I was a nameless face, known only by my decidedly unsophisticated daily tipple.
Luckily, the slight was short lived. "Hey, Keith," Aaron said as he refilled the bucket of peanuts on the bar. "Did I just call you Kevin?"
"No problem, Adam," I said. We laughed and all was forgiven.
What I realized at that moment is that sometimes the people who are part of your day in only the smallest of capacities are most important to you. Some of those interactions don't end happily: the store clerk who is rude, the guy who cuts you off on the highway and the telemarketer can all bring on a bad mood. Others with whom you only share a small sliver of your life can lift your spirits (no pun intended). Aaron gives me my daily beer, which helps me to forget my trespasses (not to mention those who have trespassed against me). Yet from bad breakups to an Ortiz home run, that part of my daily routine has made the lows and the highs just a little happier.
At Tufts, I've encountered a number of people who have managed to brighten up each day of which they are a part. For example, Enrique, the Hill Hall custodian, would always say hello and wave. I ran into him earlier this year and he still
remembered me from four years ago. That made my day. I'm sure the facilities guy who was helping push stuck cars out during the most recent snowstorm put smiles on the faces of all the people who didn't have to dig their cars out of snow banks. I'm sure even the morning Joey driver has made someone smile.
In an upcoming column, I'd like to give a salute to those "unsung heroes" who, by their optimism, friendliness, selflessness, hard work, or just conversational prowess manage to keep Tufts smiling. This "award" will be limited to Tufts support staff - non-faculty, that is. True, professors can fit the award criteria, but they already get recognized (albeit not nearly enough). A lot of students just rush past the dining hall workers, local restaurant employees, or the librarians without a second thought, and I feel that it's time they get their due.
I invite any Daily reader who has an anecdote or accolade to send me an e-mail with the name of a Tufts staff member who has done something important to make this hill a nicer place. I'll select a few and hopefully get to talk to some of them, and shed some more light on the people who already make Tufts a little brighter.
Keith Barry is a senior majoring in psychology. He can be reached at keith.barry@tufts.edu.
