The coffee sloshes over the rim,
A black tongue of recrimination
Lashing you for your smile.
Your attempts at congeniality are rebuffed.
You -- with your indecisiveness,
Your picayune requests,
Your spilt Splenda --
Is there anything you don't complicate
Or desecrate?
Must you take so long?
Ask so many questions?
Try to be so damned cheerful?
When her back is turned,
Wave your fork in a circle,
Toward the level of her heart,
And silently say:
"With food you nourish me,
With pain you revive me.
As you serve, so may you be sustained.
As you nourish, so may you be renewed."
You will see her spine straighten
And her demeanor change.
Just to be sure,
Leave a tip large enough
To confound.
And as you leave,
Know that you will have
Saved one small corner
Of the Universe,
Sending its bright arrow of blessing
Forward
Into the heart
Of an otherwise unforgiving
Day.
--Mr. Gobley
4 comments:
This supports the theory that nasty waitresses get better tips.
I was just go ask = And what if she'd been pleasant?
Hmm. You both make interesting points. Perhaps i was being had? The victim of a waitressing scam?
You must, of course,know when to offer blessing and when to withhold it. This requires instinct. A hotline to the still, small voice doesn't hurt, either.
... maybe a smile is a blessing. You'd give both, regardless of attitude, a smile- but, maybe the angry ones need a thought offered up, as insurance.
Tsk, tsk. Can't trip mr. g up w/in the very parameters of his own poems :0).
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