Thoughts from an Italian Restaurant

From November 2011

Spiritual gifts: LOG-SAWING

I’m a waitress at an Italian restaurant. One of the only two restaurants in my city. I go to work last week and I have “one of those” tables. The kind you can’t really please. I go up to the table and the 8 yr old (my guess at his age) says “Is the sweet tea fresh?” It just so happened that it was. Of course we had an earthquake this summer and there was a crack into the city water system and we are all on a boil order for the last two weeks of Oct until the end of Nov. So the tea water has to be boiled first and then we can make it (big pain in the butt). The whole table knows what they want before they even get there. No big deal, seeing as though that’s pretty common since almost everyone is a regular. The order takes me a whole sheet on my booklet. The teenage girl orders a sandwhich that doesn’t exist and the whole family has very specific things they need and don’t want. The kid proceeds to DEMAND coloring crayons and paper (we give out paper plates). The parents just sit there. Ok……..

I have many other tables at the same time including a very large table. No problem. I bring the “Happy Family” their drinks and the kid says “Aww! I don’t want that cup! Mom this is for you (he hands her the kid cup and looks at me) and I told you I wanted crayons!”…….the parents continue to let him talk to me like I’m a servant. I’m flabbergasted. (I do bring it eventually, but I make him wait. This kid needs to learn some patience and I’m willing to be the teacher) They ask my boss to force a lid on the regular size cup. I bring out their food and of course they need 50 million other things AND the teenager’s food has lettuce on it. She jumps up from the table and nearly runs me over. Did she really just run away from lettuce?!?!?!…..the mom looks at me with disgust and hisses that there was to be no lettuce on it. All the while my boss is standing at the table and talking to them. He knows they are a difficult table and not very good tippers. They left me a couple dollars. WHATEVER!

I go to my friend’s baby shower on Sunday. Low and behold who is at the party? The mom from the “Happy Family”. Lovely

I say to her “Hi, I was your waitress the other night”, she doesn’t have a clue who I am (Go figure). We play charades and she ends up on my team along with the mom-to-be and my 15 yr old son. Our turn comes and my son hops up excitedly and offers to go first. Mrs. Happy is obviously perturbed (I guess for some reason she thought she should go first). I see her frustration and try to reprimand my son for assuming he was first….but over the noise and excitement he can’t hear me and is already being shown the phrase he is acting out. No one else sees the aggrivation on Mrs. Happy’s face or thinks that my son has gone out of turn.

As I’m making crab salad for my hubby’s lunch yesterday my thoughts turn to the “Happy Family”. “Serves her right,” I think to myself, “that came back to bite her in the butt. Hahaha!” I continue cutting crab, celery and onions. “It’s not like my son was blatently rude to her like her kids were to me….plus, I tried to reprimand him and he couldn’t hear over the noise,” I start to rationalize, “She just sat there and let her kids treat me like their servant and didn’t say a thing to them. She deserved it”


I go to work, it’s a SUPER slow night. “Ugh! I guess you guys can cut me if you HAVE TO” I say. A table finally comes in for me…..and who is it?………The “Happy Family” (minus the dad this time).

God has a sense of humor, doesn’t He?

If Mrs. Happy recognizes me, she shows no sign of it. “Is the sweet tea fresh?” the 8 yr old asks. I say yes and ask if I can get him crayons and a paper plate, then they order. The teenager gets the same made up sandwhich….ham, cheese, and mayo on panini bread. The mom gets a steak salad with extra black olives. I go to the computer, with my boss this time. He says “here, let me punch it in”. I make up a ramikin full of olives. I bring the drinks to the table…..One large sweet tea, one kid sweet tea, and a Pepsi. “Awww! That’s not the right cup! Here mom this is yours.” Of course in my mind I’m going “Oh no!!! I don’t think so! I would NEVER let my kid talk to me like that!”


I take out their meal. The teenager inspects her sandwhich. There is, of course, no cheese on it. AHHHHH!!!!!! I get my boss. The “Happy Family” is a little nicer this time, since they know that my boss was the one who typed it into the computer. The cooks were the ones at fault this time. Mrs. happy snaps at me “I need extra black olives.” I think to myself, “Ok……apparently the extra 10 weren’t enough.” I go get a bigger ramikin full and charge her $.50. My boss makes us charge for everything extra and if she wants that many, I’m definitely justified in it.

I start clearing the table off after they eat. “Oh! hahaha! You did bring me extra olives. I didn’t see them.” Ummmmm…..they were in a dish on the salad….she would’ve had to remove them to get to the salad. Whatever!


My definition of Log-sawing: volunteering to saw the plank out of someone else’s eye even when the tree hanging out of your own eye gets in your way.

God’s definition of Log-sawing: “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? Matthew 7:3

Log-sawing is not a spiritual gift at all. God is the Judge of all. We have no right! When we let our flesh get in our way, we can hinder someone else’s walk or get in the way of them trusting Jesus as their Savior. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want blood on my hands. I don’t want someone to go to hell just because they thought “If Christians are like her, I don’t want that”. I want to be the right kind of influence.

I’ll automatically bring the kid a large sweet tea from now on instead of being nasty when I know what he really wants. Maybe they’ll see the love of Christ in me.

Lord, help me not to be a Log-sawer. When someone treats me bad, remind me that it was the sinner that You came to save. Thank you Lord for not holding my trees against me.


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