At the end of another exhausting day sorting my parent’s belongings, I stopped for a quick bite before hitting the road. There were only four people in front of me, so I figured it would be quick.
They took my order right away, but the solitary cashier had been with the same customer for a while and the line had stopped. More customers arrived and the line behind me started growing out the door as they kept taking orders.
After a few minutes, more employees appeared to help serve. It was bustling with four line cooks plus four servers at the counter shoveling food into containers—oblivious that there was nowhere for customers to go once they ordered. The staff kept taking orders, filling, stacking, moving, packing them closer together, and taking more orders until they had to stack meals on top of the heated holding wells for lack of counter space. The diligent staff was clearly committed to serving as many people as possible, though they failed to register the failing register.
After standing in the same place for ten minutes, people were crowding my back, seemingly unaware there is still a pandemic. I heard comments from the pack about how long it was taking. I stepped to the side just a bit, and people moved in even closer until I was pushed out of line, blocking the path of others trying to pick up their mobile orders from the rack by the register.
I wondered where the manager was and if they knew what was going on, then noticed she was directly in front of me shoveling food into containers that had no place to go. I excused myself, pushing back through the crowd to get close to her. Frustrated, I say “Excuse me! The line is not moving and you’re still serving people and making it worse.” Rather than getting on the other register to get things moving, she looks up at me for a second and says someone is coming to help, before putting her head back down to shovel more food.
I get thank you’s from several other annoyed customers for saying something, and see heads shaking in disbelief as the mob expands from the rear.
A few minutes later, another employee saunters out from the back, slowly putting on her gloves, wandering around for a few minutes, finally stepping up to the empty register. The orders are all out of order, but finally get sorted and the line starts to move. My food is, at last, discovered and I get to pay.
I retreat outside and sit with my food, releasing frustration with a few mindful breaths, watching the remains of a beautiful sunset, accompanied by the cacophony of green parrots in the trees nearby. I count over a hundred of them departing as darkness falls. I walk to my car eating my fortune cookie, stuffing the slip of paper in my pocket to read when I have more light, and start driving home.
An hour later I am home and ready to relax. I finish complaining to my wife about these mindless workers and am taking off my shirt, when I notice the forgotten slip of paper in my pocket. I dig it out and read my fortune:
“BE MINDFUL OF THE WORK OF OTHERS.”