A Strange Person Free Essay Samples

Some people may feel awkward whenever they meet somebody unexpectedly. Usually, we are interested in a person we see for the first time. We want to find out more about the unknown man. To some extent, it is more exciting when we encounter a stranger, and he or she is ready to talk to us. However, my case was different. Meeting somebody in our neighborhood, who could hardly talk, was the last thing I expected. The way he looked was even more frightening than his silence. He was a bald headed man with a freckled face.

Every evening while I was walking in our neighborhood, I saw him sitting along the road. He would not respond even after I had greeted him. It was becoming perplexing. I had never seen that person before and neither did I see him in company. He was always dressed smartly, and everybody wanted to know what kind of person he was, and where did he come from. Well, the apparent look on his face showed the image of a contented man and nothing seemed to bother him.

The sight of this man was ominous. I am the one who likes following after every new person that appears in my life. The way he was dressed defined his personality in a perfect way, and he was known as the new man around the neighborhood. He would always get into his usual place with a sense of dignity. The way that man looked differed him from the entire community.  He always matched his solemn look with the colors he wore in his outfit. As usually, bold man put on dull colored clothes, and there was not a day that he was not criticized by my friends, when we happened to meet that guy.

This man was approximately 5’9” in my own judgment. Everybody looked at him as if he was a monster. Apparently, everyone was afraid of him. Nothing would actually intimidate that guy. He appeared to be extremely confident of himself, and did not pay attention to people who surrounded him. Every slightest provocation would make him angry, and many chose to keep away from the bold man. He had a low voice that would come along with feelings of threats and horror.

That stranger made me think about the person I was, and the character that was hidden in me. Before meeting that guy, I thought that it had been easy to get along with people, because I could always come to them and start talking. However, I was wrong on that case. I was full of insecurities, and I felt as if that person had cruel intentions towards everybody. Maybe I was wrong because nothing worse was reported within the community. So I came to realize that not all silent people were cruel. I waited with awe to know what kind of person he was and why did he appear in our streets.

We are always afraid of strangers. For sure, this one would frighten everyone especially when there is no room to interact. In order to let go of any fears, it is very important to have a talk with the person. My stranger did not seem to be excited by anything and never felt content with anything. He exuded calm, confidence, and quietness wherever he was. One day he left our neighborhood. Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to find out where did he come from and the reason of his visit. Strangers can behave strange indeed. 

Related essays

  1. Violence in Fight Club
  2. Eulogy to Michael Jackson
  3. Who was Walt Disney
  4. Cinderella

Any experience or job in your life can make a great essay! This student wrote about interacting with various characters at her job at a drive-thru window and how that helped form portals to other peoples’ worlds outside of her own.

The drive-thru monitor on the wall quietly clicks whenever a person pulls up to the menu screen. It’s so subtle I didn’t notice it my first two months working at Freddy’s, the retro fast-food restaurant looming over Fairfax’s clogged stretch of Route 50. But, after months of giving out greasy burgers, I have become attuned to it. Now, from the cacophony of kitchen clangs I can easily pick out that click which transports me from my world of fry oil into the lives of those waiting in the drive-thru.

A languid male voice drifts into my ear. He orders tenders, with a side of cheese sauce. “How much cheese sauce is in a cup?” he frets, concerned over the associated 80 cent charge. The answer is two ounces, and he is right to worry. It’s a rip-off.
After I answer him, my headset goes quiet for a second. Finally, his voice crackles through.
“Do you sell cheese sauce by the gallon?”
A man orders two steakburgers and two pints of custard.
Minutes later, he reaches my window. I lean out to take his credit card, only to meet the warm tongue of a wizened dog.
The man apologizes: “She just loves your restaurant.”
I look at the dog, her nose stretching out of the car and resting on the window ledge, then look at the order he had given me.
Once I hand him his food, the dog sniffs one of the pints.
“No!” he reprimands. “Only after you eat your dinner.”
He sets a burger between her paws, then speeds away.
I can’t understand the order, but I know that whoever is speaking is from New Jersey. Tommy, pronounced “Tahmee”, apparently has high blood pressure. He orders fries.
“No!” the woman screeches. “No salt!”
They pull up to the window. The man, clad in a Hawaiian shirt, thrusts a crumpled wad of cash in my hand.
The women pushes him back. “Sorry!” she apologizes, “But we’re lost! Never been to Virginia before - we’re trying to find Lynchburg!”
It is 10:45 PM, and Lynchburg is three hours away. We give them an extra side of fries (no salt of course) and directions to a nearby hotel.

For these brief moments, I am part of their lives: in their cars, they are at home. They are surrounded by their trash and listening to their music, dancing with their friends and crying alone, oblivious to the stranger taking their order. On the surface, these people are wildly different; they range from babies clad in Dolphin’s jerseys (“Her first pre-game party!”) to grandmothers out for ladies’ night; college students looking for a cheese sauce fix to parents on a dieting kick (“Chicken sandwich on a lettuce wrap”). But, despite every contrasting characteristic, they all ended up in the same place: my drive-thru, my portal to their worlds.

*Click* It’s a family, squished into a little car. When I hand them their bags, they happily open them and devour the food. The mother asks me for extra napkins, forks, and knives.
“We just moved,” she explains. “And everything is still in boxes.”
I moved a lot as a child, so I know what they’re going through. I give them an entire pack of utensils.
As the car leaves, the kids in the backseat press their faces against the car window and wave. I wave back as the car slowly makes it way toward 50. New to the area, they have yet to adopt the hurried rush that comes with the proximity to DC.

Customers like these help me realize I am not just a passive traveller in this drive-thru - I do not just watch and observe. I laugh and I help and I talk with them, if only for a few moments. They tell me about their lives, and I mention stories from mine. Over my hundreds of hours behind the drive-thru window, thousands of different people have come through, sharing snippets of their diverse lives. All they have in common when they come in is the desire for greasy fast food. However, by the time they leave, they share something else: a nugget of my life.

The drive-thru portal takes me to disparate places; to Lynchburg, to the grocery store to buy cheese sauce, to a new home filled with opportunity and cardboard boxes. It transports me back to my room, where I hug my dog and feed her chicken and treats. It is a portal to the world, hidden in the corner of a fast-food kitchen.

With each click, that door opens. (764)


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *