We sometimes eat at that truck stop on the hill when we go to Cheyenne. The lady who takes orders and waits tables is young at heart, if not so young in years. She always jokes and teases us about whether we qualify for the discount, although our wrinkles and gray hair is testament enough.
“Be sure to get a free drink refill when you leave,” she says, although not many places do that anymore. Probably, a good share of the customers are regulars but, even if not, she treats us all like family. She scoots around checking whether the food is ok (it always is) and, if anything else is needed. She seems to be the only person doing that, and also works back in the kitchen. She must be dead on her feet by the end of her shift but you’d never know it.
When we were there last week, a chatty older couple were seated at a nearby table. We exchanged greetings and information about where we were from. They hailed from Arizona, and were out to see the country, “while we still can.” The fellow had his stops all planned and wasn’t up for any suggestions about side trips in the area, which is fine, but might have been a clue.
“What do you think of ____, a certain politician?” (whom I won’t name), he asked.
I jumped right in because Bruce is likely to take the bait, and I refuse to. “Depends on the day,” I replied. That seemed to puzzle him briefly but he went on to tell us that it was too bad that would be shooters didn’t do more target practice. Apparently, our lack of response shut that down.
He went on to expound on heaven, and who we will meet there. I’ll say this, the man sure knows his Bible but evidently, he picks and chooses about which parts to believe.
“Interesting folks,” I said after they left. Quite a comparison to the lady who was doing her best to make everyone comfortable and happy.
You never know what you might do or say that makes someone’s day. It doesn’t have to be much; a good morning, holding a door, letting somebody in line ahead of you, or a compliment on a pretty blouse. But it’s just as easy to make someone uncomfortable by a rude remark or letting the door slam in front of the person coming toward the entrance. My husband still dislikes the singer, Michael Martin Murphy because he didn’t hold a door for me fifteen years ago in Elko Nevada. That’s a bit over the top, in my book; there are better things to draw my attention.
What’s more important is making our actions and words match what we claim to believe. And if they don’t, why is that, and what are we going to do about it?
Meet me here next week and meanwhile, do your best. Somebody might like it.