Missing Persons

              

The horrifying headline immediately caught my eye: "Father of Abducted Barista, 18, Pleads for her Return." A young woman was stolen at gunpoint, and all we know about her is that she spends some moments of her life brewing coffee for strangers and squirting the occasional dollop of whipped cream on top of steaming lattes. A barista disappeared, and her father wants her back. Assuming the headline zeroed in on the heart of the matter, just think about how all those folks waiting in line at the coffee joint feel.

When push comes to shove, do we really become what we do? I've had more than a few people tell me lately than I'm too smart to be working in retail (a false assumption, but that's beside the point). Nobody has suggested I am too smart to stay at home in my pj's playing spider solitaire for hours, I suppose because that isn't an income generating activity. I mentioned this phenomenon to my son -- one of the smartest people I know -- the other day, as we discussed his frantic search for some menial job in New York City. When he lands that job as a waiter, I will be thrilled for him, although I doubt I -- or anyone who knows him for that matter -- will identify him as Jill Ocean's son, the waiter.

My son -- writer, dreamer, thinker, avid reader, avid Japan-o-phile -- has no idea what he will end up doing with his life, has no clue what he will "do" to earn money. If it is true that we tend to identify ourselves, and others, by what they do and how much they earn, well I smell an identity crisis. If it is true that we tend to make assumptions about ourselves and others based upon the prestige of the job and the size of the paycheck, how will my son -- or I, for that matter -- ever take pride in who we are. Could we really be nothing more than what our social security numbers say we are, even though there are several people out there whose lives would be forever altered if we disappeared?

Would it be any better if the headline announced the grief of the father of an abducted doctor? Lawyer? Retail sales associate? I think not. If what we do for a paycheck defines us, many folks might as well come to grips with the idea that they are slaves, pimps, or whores. For those of us reading the disturbing headline, the missing girl seems no more than a faceless girl in an apron, her soul, her hopes and dreams  as blurred and invisible as her name tag. Could that be right?

Sure, I'd be devastated if anything happened to one of my favorite baristas. But for the people in their lives -- mothers, fathers, friends, even customers -- a cold cup of coffee would be the least of our woes.