I'm a goodwill ambassador.

I’m seated on a bench. Outside the main post office. In the city of Carbonia. In Sardinia. I’m sheltered here. From the rain. At about 9 in the morning. There’s a guy 20 feet away. Holding a placard to his chest. With printing. And he has a cup in one hand. So I assume he’s asking for money. For what, I don’t know. Because I don’t read or speak Italian. People entering and leaving the post office pretty much ignore him. In the 15 minute I’ve been here, I saw only one coin drop. At first, I thought that maybe the guy was on strike. Or protesting something. Occasionally, the guy takes a break. Sits down on a bench for a few minutes. Now he’s back up again. Two other guys are standing nearby. Chatting. One is leaning on his closed umbrella. Using it like a cane. Now two women have stopped to chat with the two guys. Sounds like a convivial conversation. Laughter. They part with repeated choruses of ‘Ciao. Ciao. Ciao.’ Now another guy enters the scene. Humming a lively tune. Sounds like bee-bop. He stops to read the placard. Then moves on. Without giving. But soon, another guy comes out of the post office. Drops in a handful of change. It’s been an hour or so. And the sun comes out. The dark clouds dissipate. Fast. I feel the warmth. Makes me wonder if that will spur the giving spirit. Sure enough, a lady seated on a bench, motions for the guy to come over. She drops in a coin or two. In 5 minutes, several others follow suit. Even I get up. Toss in more. I tell the man, ‘Non parlo Italiano.’ I ask if he speaks English. Apparently not. But wait a second. He says ‘thanks.’ And I tell him ‘Io sono un Americano.’ Yes, an American goodwill ambassador to Sardinia. –Jim Broede