"Usually, it works like a well-oiled machine."
There was plenty of oil and grease in the Waffle House where we stopped for lunch on the way to my son's home, but that's not what makes the team that dishes out waffles, eggs, burgers and hash-browns work. I'll get back to that in a moment.
November 8th a bunch of my fellow-citizens, having concluded our country is going to the place of Divine, eternal retribution in a hand-basket shocked the world by electing a complete outsider to the highest office in our land.
On Wednesday morning, another group of Americans knew for sure that the picnic container we are in was headed to the fire that won't be quenched. Still others see the divide among our population, that the election confirmed, and just know that the two-sided wicker tote, with all its contents--that would be we Red-White-and-Blue types--is about to plunge into the pit with no bottom.
There were about eight folk in a roadside restaurant who apparently hadn't gotten the memo.
Kathy and I didn't intend to stop at Waffle House. As we were making our way across Georgia I saw a sign on the interstate for a different restaurant. When we got there, though, we found that it was only a carry-out place. We needed a break from the Honda, so we went in search of something else. Before we even got into the diner, we were glad that we had stopped. A black gentleman I would take to be eighty met us in the lot, greeted my wife as a "young lady," and escorted us in. Our waitress was a middle-aged Caucasian gal. If I had to guess, I'd say her early life had had it's share of "drama." Her job as a server was probably part of her having gotten it together, after some years that had produced their share of grief. Manning the grills were a young black man who looked like he had played offensive line on his high-school football team, and a youngish white woman, tattooed, and appearing like she wouldn't take any nonsense. I've seen clones of them on TV news, yelling at each other from opposite sides of street demonstrations. The guy who called out orders to the food handlers looked to have roots in the Middle East. His man-bun, ear rings and general bearing said "college student" to me. Most of the rest of the staff had a salt-of-the-earth, blue-collar appearance. It would have been hard for a Hollywood casting agent to put together a better cross-section of America.
It was lunchtime. The little dining-room was full. Others were waiting for carry-out orders. The operation was functioning to the max. When our waitress brought some more coffee, Kathy commented about how impressed she was with the way they worked together. That's when we heard the "well-oiled machine" line. Not only did the staff do their jobs well, they were having fun while they were doing them. A woman who moved from task to task, kept up a running dialog with our friendly greeter, Everyone else chuckled at their schtick. You could pay a lot more at a dinner-theater and not get as good a show. Not only did people have to do the job at hand, they had to dodge their associate as she or he did assigned duty. A couple of times one worker made her way through the hive of activity carrying a load of hot parts from the grill that needed to be cleaned. The waters parted, and then settled back, leaving hardly a ripple.
I hadn't intended to say any more about the recent election and the divisions in our nation that it revealed. More capable commentators than me are speaking on the issue. At lunch, however, in a restaurant where the Cleaver family would feel at home, I saw a model that gives me hope in the world where Beaver's grandkids live. I doubt that anyone, on either side of the counter, has any idea about how to solve our national and international problems. But they do know how to feed a room full of hungry customers, and have fun while they're at it. Here are some observations distilled to
do this points:
- Get a job, do it well, and take pride in your work.
- Treat those around you with respect. Know that if they do well, they'll help you succeed.
- Put forth the effort to get along. It makes it more likely that others will do so for you.
- Don't forget to have fun along the way.
Listening to the news from the power-centers of the world causes me to be concerned. Watching the crew at the Waffle House off of I-85 in the Peach State give me hope.
Thank You, Lord for that encouragement.
No comments:
Post a Comment