Last night was a good night. I took home $41 and change.
I headed toward the dish sink after a delivery. I chatted with a few people on my way back. I grabbed a dish bin, executed a controlled drift around a manager desk and pulled out of my curve in the middle of prep work. Several people were engaged in various tasks. The smell of Food Release was heavy.
The Warrior passed me on the way. He was headed back to his current post near the front of the store.
The Warrior appears to be a young man. With the amount of vegetable oil and salt, who knows? He’s quiet. He’s skilled. He is always busy. I feel we are growing a quiet, mutual respect. He does his job well. I look up to him.
During a previous week, I was doing dishes. It’s a simple process. Flat trays with protrusions at regular intervals for dishes are loaded as full as possible, then shoved in the Dishwasher.
With a capital D.
This thing is intense. Dishes go in. Doors come down. A sea monster blasts water from the roof of this magic cleaning trap for forty-five seconds. Then, mermaids rinse the cookware with songs and happy thoughts for about fifteen seconds. Another twenty-second blast hits the dishes. Doors come up, and repeat.
I was on the “clean” side of the line. Blastoise was wreaking havoc. I opened the doors when the water stopped and pulled the tray out. I started stacking the steaming pans.
The Warrior appeared behind me unarmed. He moved to the “dirty” side. Two trays were on the sink. His hands were a blur. One was on the spray nozzle, another was grabbing dishes. It was crazy. Dishes piled into the tray in line and in sync. I tried to watch as I put away the pans. By the time I was done, he had already released the Kraken. Two more full trays sat on the “dirty” side, ready to feed to the Beast. I realized one of those two had been my just-now-emptied tray.
He nodded once to me with a smile, turned on the ball of one foot, ninja-collected a few dishes for his post and left.
I vowed to learn the ways of the Warrior.
He gave me a complement the other day. He complemented my speed as a deliveryman. But, like most Warriors I’ve met, he didn’t deliver that to my face. He said it in conversation with someone else, loud enough so I could hear it. There is too much honor to be lost by doing such sissy things as presenting a complement more direct than that. You do the job. You go home. Respect is earned.
There are many seasoned individuals at my restaurant that I respect. The Warrior is no exception. I don’t know how he lives his life. I don’t know how he feels about debt. It doesn’t matter. You might agree. You don’t need to know that much about the Warriors in your life. They just inspire you to fight on and fight well.
ROE INTENSE
| On a side note, please check out Carry On, Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton, blogger and founder of Momastery. My wife just finished it. I read parts. I only read parts because I laughed too hard to keep reading. Sometimes I cried. She helps us all become Warriors one step at a time. Thanks, Glennon! |
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