Perspective (guest post)

perspective

perspective

Today’s guest post comes from Marisa and her blog is called Healing Points Therapeutic. Although it is far from bitchy, this story really hit a nerve with me, probably because I read it on the flight home from my mother-in-law’s funeral. I hope you will all read it and take it to heart.  -BW

Although I’ve now retired from waitressing, I spent a good portion of my life in the biz. I’ve done hard time at horrible corporate chains rife with douchebags and flair, then moved up to casual bars/restaurants, and then to more upscale eateries with higher check averages, and crumbers. Spending so much time around great food slowly began to turn me into the most reviled of restaurant patrons…a foodie.

Oh, the terrible stigma attached to this term! I cringe every single time I hear a friend refer to me as one. I love food, and I love quality food, but that’s where it ends. I’m not a food snob. I don’t waste time explaining to my waitress that I love bolognese sauce because I ate it in every city in Italy. I don’t drill the restaurant staff on the former diet of the chicken I am eating, who caught my fish and if he received a fair wage for his work, or on what farm every frigging vegetable on my plate came from. Why is that? Because I’m not an obnoxious, know-it-all, entitled windbag…and sad to say, that’s how most of these so-called “foodies” come across.

One day, a coworker of mine was blessed by the presence of a hard-core foodie in her section. During the hour she spent describing everything on the menu, where it came from, what type of parents it had, and so on, there was one question she couldn’t answer. That was all it took to rile up this pretentious jackass. He demanded a dissertation on the cow that was providing his steak before he would order. He wasn’t content until the chef left the line, in the middle of service, for a long and involved Q&A session, which ended up putting the entire kitchen behind.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the restaurant, I had been seated with a party of four, a family with two young kids. The father ordered a bottle of the most expensive wine we had, and I wondered what they were celebrating, since it was 6:00 on a Wednesday night. I poured the wine and waited for the toast, because I was bored and nosy. As I stood there, the father raised his glass and toasted, “Here’s to a really, really small brain tumor,”

I thought I had misheard, when the little girl burst into tears. “But it’s still there!” she wept. “Even if it’s small, it’s still there!”

“But it’s small…look,” the father said, rolling a piece of bread from the table into a small ball. “It’s this big. That’s nothing, right? Look how small that is!”

I wandered back into the kitchen, wondering which one of them had the tumor. I couldn’t help but admire the father’s attitude-whether it was his health issue or his daughter’s, he was bravely facing the issue head-on. Still, my heart broke for that family.
And as I walked by the other side of the restaurant and saw that horrible foodie once more torturing the waitress with his endless needs, I marveled at how utterly skewed perspective can be. In the overall scheme of things, who the hell cares whether your truffle oil is imported straight from Italy? How is it possible to become so self-absorbed that you can actually get angry about something so insignificant? On one side of the restaurant, a family was struggling to turn the most vital issue of their lives into something insubstantial; on the other side, this man was expending all of his effort to create issues where none existed. I wished I could drag him over to the other side and force him to listen to what was going on…something that actually mattered.

Every once in a while, when I’m stuck sitting in Boston traffic, or I come out to see a ticket sitting on my windshield…when I go to a restaurant and they are out of my favorite dish…that night at the restaurant comes back to be. It’s a good reminder that all of these irritating little things that happen throughout the course of the day really don’t matter, in the end. A little perspective can go a long way.

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Discussion

  1. Christie
  2. J.B.
  3. Marilyn in DC
  4. melissa in houston

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