Hello, all. I am honored to have a guest post today that is written by Martha, the patron saint of waiters and waitresses. It is a very rare event to have a blog post by a patron saint so I hope you all realize how fortunate we are to have this, especially when you consider that she died over 2000 years ago. Please enjoy.
Hey bitches, this a guest blog post by me, Martha. I’m the Patron Saint of Waiters and Waitresses. Most people call me St. Martha, but you can just call me Martha, it’s cool. I mean, I’m a saint and everything but it’s not like I think I’m better than any of you. I bet a lot of you didn’t even know you had a patron saint, did you? Well, you do but I have a terrible publicist. It’s really not that big of a deal to be a saint. There’s even a patron saint for finding a damn parking spot, for Christ’s sake. You can read all about my life on my Wikipedia page or the page of saints, but most of that is the official story. I want to give you the real deal here.
So yes. I served Jesus. He used to come to my house with his disciples and I would serve him with my sister Mary. He was pretty cool and he taught me how to not worry about things or be distracted so that I could serve better. I guess what Jesus didn’t understand was that sometimes I welcomed those distractions because it took my mind off the fact that I was dirt poor and serving a 13-top in my own house. They used to come into the pub I worked in but then the owner kicked them out because they would just order water and then Jesus would turn it into wine. He would also ask for one basket of bread and then multiply it over and over again. They’d sit there for like four hours talking and then their bill would have 13 glasses of water on it and no food because the bread was free. Judas would always grab the check and say, “Oh, I’ll take care of it. I like to leave a 100% tip.” Then he’d look at the bill and see that it was for nothing and say, “Hmmm, let’s see… 100% of zero is…ZERO!” He thought he was so funny, that Judas. He was a real dick sometimes. The only time I got a decent tip was when Matthew the tax collector left me a Coin of Tiberius. Basically, it’s a penny and I think he left it by accident, but I was happy to find it on the table after they left. I took it home with me and we used it to buy a grain of rice that we ate for Christmas dinner.
So anyway, after my boss told them they couldn’t take up any more tables unless they were going to start ordering things, I told them they could use my place to meet in. I don’t know what I was thinking. I lived in a tiny hut that I shared with my sister, my parents, five brothers, two goats and a donkey, but they took me up on the offer. I think I mostly did it because I thought one of Jesus’ disciples was cute. His name was Thomas but I doubt he even noticed I was there. But I did it and it made me feel good to know I was helping out in some small way. They would meet once a week and talk about the future and the glory of God and blah blah blah. I tried to pay attention but I was always so busy, what with filling their water goblets so Jesus could make them some more wine. They could really drink once they got started. One time, I sat down at the table because I was interested in this story that Jesus was telling but Peter denied me that privilege and told me that women weren’t allowed to sit at the table of disciples. I told him that when they aren’t there, I sit at that table all the time, but he denied me again. He told me to get him some more water. I told him that his teeth were stained the color of red wine and I didn’t think he needed any more “water” and he denied me a third time by waving his hand and shooing me away from the table. He hurt my feelings but later on his brother Andrew apologized on his behalf.
I was with them all at their last supper. You can’t see me in the famous painting because of course I was busy working.
That last supper was held at a banquet hall they rented. I volunteered to work it because I knew that something big was about to go down and I wanted to see Jesus one more time. And Thomas too, but I doubt he remembers that I gave him an extra piece of bread. They were all sad that day. I’ll never forget what Jesus told me that last time I saw him. He leaned over to me, so close that I could smell the patchouli in his hair and he said, “Martha, I will pray for you that you might serve better. I will help you to overcome your distractions and worries and be present to become a better waitress.” I thanked him but didn’t have the heart to say that waiting tables was just my side job until I got my big break as an actress. That was the last time I ever saw Jesus.
I never did get my big break but I continued serving. I was the best waitress the land of Galilee ever did see and I owed it all to Jesus. His words did help me focus on my guests and make sure their needs were fulfilled. I eventually opened my own wine bar called Martha’s Vineyard and it was very successful. After I died, a local bishop suggested that I became canonized and the next thing I knew, I was Martha the patron saint of servants, including waiters and waitresses. I was very surprised and honored. Would I like to be the patron saint of actresses like that tramp Saint Pelagia? Sure I would, but at least I’m not the patron saint of mad cow disease.
The next time you are at work and begin to feel stressed out, just take a second to think of me, Martha. I am your patron saint and I am here to help you feel better. I will not, however, help you buss your tables. I’m done with that shit.