On Forgiveness

Along with some other things my son is a waiter, or as he likes to say, slave. He often shares anecdotes of awful behavior exhibited by diners on his watch. I'm sorry for him, but hey--servers can be a pain in the ass too. In fact, a bad one can ruin an otherwise good meal, and you still have to leave a tip or you go straight to Hell, I've been told.

At a recent dinner out, our waitress acted as if she were our long-lost firstborn just sprung from a Turkish prison. She nattered on so much about things other than what's on the menu that I forgot for a minute and thought she was selling us a timeshare at the beach instead of a lousy plate of pasta. But she was so cheery, it was unthinkable to tell her to shut up and and just bring the food-- and some water and maybe while you're at it, the salt and pepper. And we're missing a napkin. And what happened to that wine we ordered. And by the way, "My name is Deedee and I'll be your server for the evening" doesn't get the food into my mouth if I have no silverware.

Also annoying is when they tell you the specials, which in some places can take as long as a reading of Beowulf.  Then when you ask if this is good or that is good, everything is "fabulous," which you know is not true. So they lie. And then they disappear when it's time for the check. I could go on but I won't, since I just want to make the point that there are two sides to every story, and because of that I forgive Deedee. Because we never recover until we forgive. Even though I see no reason why I had to hear that her daughter wasn't feeling well that day and missed school. Is that really something I needed to know? Oh right....forgive. Recover.