Boots

Boots
The first problem was boots. Although I had made sure Will brought his own boots (size 14, all rubber, with metal inserts to protect against nails), I had been counting on picking up two pairs of boots for myself and Ben at the Center. I had some reason to expect that boots would be available, because when I’d last visited a month before they had lots of spares. To my dismay, the system had changed completely in the month I’d been away. Now the extra boots were quarantined on a ledge to the left of the entranceway with a sign proclaiming “Don’t take these!” Hiding my indignation, I approached a businesslike man at the front desk and asked about the situation.
He smiled wryly. “Yes, it was the case that you could pick up the excess gloves, masks and boots that people left behind. But then volunteers started counting on things being available. People came from all over Japan expecting boots and gloves to be provided. So we had to change the system. After all, one of the principles of volunteering is to be self-sufficient. We now expect you to bring your own boots.”
I nodded understandingly. I did not want to be confused with those freeloaders who expected everything to be laid out before them! Reluctantly, I walked away (not without a furtive glance at the rows of boots and a furtive calculation about the possibility of swiping a pair after dusk).
I was stumped. After having bottomed out my budget just getting to Tono, it looked like Ben and I would not be able to work in the disaster area the next day, and I didn’t want to send Will alone. Reluctantly, I decided to ask Mr. Koiguchi for yet more good will. Using a cell phone he had provided, I called and asked if he had any spare boots I could borrow (stink up/puncture/ruin). As he had before, he immediately came through for us. In just 20 minutes he pulled up to the Center with two pair of very nice rubber boots. As I brought the boots in through the entrance, I made sure to signal to the man behind the desk. “I didn’t take these from out front- a friend gave them to me.” I held up the boots.
He nodded. “Do you have inserts?” he asked.
My face fell. I had overlooked the fact that Mr. Koiguchi’s boots did not have metal inserts for working in the disaster area.
The man pursed his lips. “Hmmm. Well, you’ve gone to the trouble to procure your own boots, I suppose we can supply inserts for you.”
“Oh, Thank-you, Thank-you!”
He rummaged around and got out a few metal inserts, but did not find the proper size, 24 centimeters. He cast a furtive eye at the forbidden extra boots, which could be seen through the window, all neatly lined up in a row.
“Hmmm. Well, look. You have obviously made an effort to supply your own boots, and your friend has gone to all of this trouble. It would be a pity to get your friend’s boots dirty. I tell you what. These extra boots have metal inserts already in them. Why don’t we borrow these, just on this one occasion.
“Are you sure?” I asked humbly.
He nodded decisively. “Yes.”
When I next saw Mr. Koiguchi, I told him the whole story. “So you see, your boots were very important,” I said, “Even though we did not use them.” Mr. Koiguchi’s boots had allowed me to demonstrate my sincerity as a volunteer.
As it turned out, the change in boot policy was just one of many changes in how the Center was being managed, one month after my previous visit. Tono Magokoro Net was proving itself to be a “learning organization.” I was amazed at the vitality of an organization that could evolve and adapt, even while the people at the front desk came and went.