Sunday was the best of times, Sunday was the worst of times.
Let’s wake up at 8 o’clock and get ready for Sunday School. This morning is a special morning. We aren’t going to cuss at our wife, because we can’t cuss today. No griping about having to take a shower, it’s not God’s fault you had to work late last night. After about 45 minutes on the can, you’re causing her to be late.
Can’t be late for worship practice.
You’re playing bass guitar today.
For two services.
But no griping. You can’t complain today. Even though she’s mad because you now have 15 minutes to get ready.
You stumble your way through the K-LOVE top 20 playlist. No clue what songs you played. And grinned your way through the service. We are the perfect Jesus loving husband. Let’s ask people your own age what they are doing for lunch.
Cracker Barrel attracts Christians on Sunday like Chick-Fil-A attracts Christians the other 6 days a week.
We sit down. We’ve paid our dues. And our waitress only has two stars on her apron. She is slammed busy.
She’s slow getting our drinks because we were on our phones and weren’t ready. Everything we order is special. The chicken fried chicken has sawmill gravy on it…it has to go back. We never got our biscuits. This is coming out of her tip.
This story was entirely autobiographical by the way.
I never really understood why waitresses hated working on Sunday. Your tables were packed to the brim, with people waiting an hour just to get into some places. More people mean more money right? I learned that this isn’t the case. Many waitresses hate working Sunday because you get angry people coming in demanding everything specially made, if they drink their sweet tea in two gulps like a Sasquatch, they shout ‘ridiculous service’ until you apologetically refill their glass.
A group of 7? Great. One less than automatic gratuity. Seventeen cent tip? Sounds like a group of people who just came from worshiping the living savior with like-minded believers, clawing at a chance to serve a world like the Son who washed the feet of his own disciples.
It wasn’t until I had lunch in a group with someone I’d never eaten with before shouting ‘ridiculous service’ that I woke up to what I’ve been doing most of my life.
Instead of looking and acting like we just watched a man slaughter puppies on stage for an hour and a half, could we go out looking and acting like we’ve been redeemed? Is it possible that we leave after a sermon about reaching out to a lost world, and let our waitresses know that we understand that she is all of a sudden busy with an entire section wanting sweet teas all at once? When she nervously says they forgot the turnip greens, can we look her into the eyes, smile, and say ‘It’s ok, we know you’re busy. Just whenever you get to it.’?
Can each person leave at least 30%? Can we round it up instead of multiplying our total by .15 while she waits for you to hand her the last pen she could find? I know. You pay up front. You know my point too well.
I know my point too well.
Can we give hilariously to an entire service industry who has to deal with us in the same way that we give hilariously at the offering plate?
Let’s give it a try. Sunday, wherever you go. Spend your next hour trying to serve your waitress in every way you can. Did the busboy call in? Help her bus your table before you sit down. Is she running around crazy? Throw down as many smiles as you can and let her know it’s ok.
Leave a tip that makes her follow you and say, ‘Thank you.’
That was the best ‘Thank you’ I had ever received. And it’s one I will always remember. It was well worth it.
And as always, follow if you follow, like if you like, share if you want others to know whats up…and I’ll see you on the other side!