So, like most of the known American universe, I watched the series finale of Six Feet Under. And probably like most everybody, I feel the simultaneous urge to sing, cry, have kids, go to the beach, see my family and watch home videos. So perfect an ending for so perfect a show. Somehow, with my Grandpa Jimmy dying and all the thoughts that come with that, it made me feel better. Endings are finite, but there are so many beginnings that the endings almost seem purposeful, natural and needed. You think of the morning as a beginning and suddenly the thought of the finite doesn’t seem so terrifying.
I think of my life, and the lives of others for whom I care about, and I wonder what is in store for us as we move through the world. Eyes open, and eyes shut, and at some point everyone’s shuts for ever. I choose to think that with this bifurcated state of living, its important to make our eyes meet in their open state, and our minds in their closed. It’s not enough to see the world, but one must be with and in the world itself. We focus so much on material, the bad and the tiresome, but we forget that the gazes we share with those who we love are I think the most miraculous things in the world. That somehow, life is created and that life ended up sharing your own. That is how I choose to think.
And then there was the waiter who forgot to take Amy’s order.
We are at our favorite little Brazillian place, where regardless of the traffic on Colorado, there is always a table in the back for us. They have amazing food as well. Tonight however we had a new waiter. He seemed, well, rather out of sorts. He comes over, and almost seemingly to be an after thought gets our drink orders. He has a rather thick European accent and the glazed expression of someone who either was stoned (possibly) or just confused (likely).
He takes my order, “yes, I’ll have a barbeque chicken pizza, and we’ll share a fried calamari appetizer.”
“Will that be it for you?” he asks.
I reply in the affirmative.
And then he walks away, right as Amy said, “and I will have…..”
Her voice trails off, a look of quiet incredulity on her face. This can not be happening, a waiter forgot her order. Did she disappear into the seat? Was she too short to see? Did whatever European country he was from only take dinner orders from men?
Almost fuming (but not quite, as I’m still in a state of shock), I thrown my napkin aside, walk clumsily up to the servers computer (bumping a couple on the way) and say, rather loudly so the other waiter can hear, “Um, hello? You forgot to take my wife’s order.”
He is apologetic, and he does take the order, but something is not right. I have to wonder, where did this man come from? And why us?
You have to understand this is not an anomalous occurrence. You are talking to the couple who were insulted by the Salvation Army, yelled at by a car salesman, later to be called a liar by the same guy, and now, ignored by a waiter.
The only thing left is to be urinated on by the pope.
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