In the rush of last-minute errands for the holidays, it became clear on Christmas Eve that I would have to eat dinner away from home. That's all fine and good, but this was Christmas Eve. As I looked around, all the businesses, especially restaurants, were shutting down in the late afternoon to give their employees a well-deserved break ahead of the holidays to finish up their Christmas preparations before spending time with their families.
This is a good thing, and I honour it, but it still forced me to ask: what was I to eat?
But I knew there was a Tim Horton's at the edge of town that was open 24 Hours. As I was passing by early in the afternoon, I decided to check in to see if they would be open that evening. I didn't have to look hard for the Holiday Hours sign and, sure enough: this 24 Hours Tim Hortons meant it: they would remain open 24 hours a day, through Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day and into the New Year.
So that's where I ate that evening, with my father and my youngest child after the Christmas Eve service, with one other customer present and two staff members handling the cash, food preparation, and the drive-thru window.
As grateful as I was to have this meal on Christmas Eve, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like throughout the holiday. What would it be like at a 24 Hour Tim Hortons at 3 a.m. on Christmas Morning? Who would be sitting, out of the cold, hands clasped over a warm coffee, taking a meal? Who would be there on Christmas afternoon? Or Boxing Day before the Boxing Week sales opened? What is it like for the workers who serve them?
Today, travelling to pick up my step-father-in-law, the roads are empty. This is a day people stay home. So, who else is out this day? I'm not talking about the homeless, though they could use more warm spaces like this. Instead, I'm talking about a group of people who are at the edge of society in a unique way: no commitments to bring them home but strange commitments to keep them away from home. People who we wouldn't otherwise notice on other days because we're commuting beside them, until those days when we stop and they don't.
Is it a dark place for these people? Or just different?
I am pleased that there are still places for people who can't be home for Christmas, who have to keep moving when everybody else takes a break. Though I don't want to be in their shoes, I wonder what it's like to be in them. Maybe there's a story there. We'll see.