love

I loved my husband last night.

 

He rubbed my legs, sore and stiff from the demands of the end of the school year.

But that’s not why I loved him.

 

He took me out to dinner to get some gluten free pizza that I’ve been craving for weeks.

But that’s not why I loved him.

 

We had a great conversation about our hopes and dreams and plans for semi- and real retirement.

But that’s not why I loved him.

 

In fact, the reason I loved him had nothing to do with me at all.

 

The young waiter at the restaurant last night was having a rough time. Our salads never came out. My husband’s order was somehow replaced with a sub par facsimile. My husband expressed his displeasure when the waiter came around to check on the order. I could tell the young guy was flustered. He flipped to our order in his tablet to confirm he recorded the right dish. Based upon his utterances, I think he understood the order but wrote it in a way that was confusing to decipher. He walked off to handle the kitchen and put in the request for the right dish.

The manager came around and told us the replacement would be out soon. My husband indicated he really just wanted the salad which was ordered almost a half hour prior.

The waiter returned to tell us the new meal was on its way and asked if we needed anything. “Just our salads,” my husband said, “But I think your boss is getting them now.”

A look of pure shame and frustration fell over the waiter’s face, the final curtain after a poorly received act. As he walked towards the back, I saw his arms go up to his face as though they wanted to punish him and shield him at the same time.

I mentioned my observation to my husband, as he was facing the other way.

And what he did next is the reason I loved him.

When the correct order was finally placed in front of him (a grilled pizza slathered in peppers and mushrooms), he called the waiter over. The boy approached, hesitantly. “This is awesome!” my husband exclaimed, reaching out for a fist bump with the surprised waiter.

When the manager again came to check on us, my husband stated, “Tell our waiter he’s doing a really good job making sure that everything’s okay.”

And on the check, he added the words, ‘Thank you. Good job!” above the tip line.

 

I loved my husband last night not because of what he does for me or for our family but for what he did for a stranger who was having a rough night.

I loved my husband last night for making the effort to make someone smile and for bringing some good into someone’s day.

I loved my husband last night for his empathy and generosity.

I loved my husband last night for reaching out even when he had nothing to gain in return.

 

Maybe the way we treat waiters really does reveal our true selves.