For the sake of my blood pressure, I've learned throughout the years to not get too bent out of shape over things that I can't control, especially rooting for my favorite sports teams.
For the most part, I'm talking about screaming at the TV and not sleeping when things don't go my way. Like I said, for the most part, I've done a pretty good job of not getting too upset.
Until Sunday, that is.
My Packers lost a game they shouldn't have to the Lions. No, I did not take it well. I screamed at the TV and at the dog. Poor Sam, he did nothing wrong and didn't deserve to be yelled at. Of course, he has forgiven me without hesitation. I haven't forgiven myself.
To make a short story long, I'm in a foul mood and I have to go to work. It's a long drive to Cheyenne as it is, but even longer when you're ticked off. I hadn't had lunch, so a quick stop at the McDonald's drive thru was going to have to do.
Wouldn't you know it. Like Sam, they (McDonald's workers) were about to take the brunt of my unpleasantness. For some reason, no one waited on me for about 5 minutes in the drive-thru, although cars were getting their orders in from the other drive-thru. Yeah, I'm not too happy. Then after getting my food and pulling out into Grand Ave., I realize that they didn't give me a straw or napkins.
No, it doesn't get better.
I pull back into the parking lot, go inside and grab a straw and some napkins. I decide to wait a couple more minutes and get in line. "What can I get for you?" the 19-year-old or so McDonald's employee asks me.
"How about some better service," I grumbled, much to the surprise of the worker and the man and his kids who had just ordered. "It took you guys 5 minutes to get my order from the drive-thru when others were going through the other order lane. When I got my food, there wasn't a straw or napkins."
A fool am I.
"Well ... uh, we only have four people working now ... uh, they must have gotten behind," the worker said.
That wasn't what I wanted to hear.
As I was walking out the door, I screamed back, "I don't want to hear excuses!"
Of course, the second I walked out of the door, I realized what an idiot I was and regretted my actions.
"So much for not letting the little things bother me," I say, as I called my wife when I got to the parking lot at work.
Earlier in the week, I told Teresa, no more sweating the small stuff. After all, I had enough to deal with. Things hadn't been going well with Teresa's health, and this past week was especially a rough week. A friend of mine had just lost his mother to a massive heart attack. Just a few months ago, he lost his wife to cancer. He has two young kids at home.
We often complain about things that aren't important when others, like my wife and my friend, have serious issues to deal with every day of their life. They keep going because they have to and they want to, and we bitch about crap.
So I'm screaming at the TV, the dog and minimum wage workers at McDonald's because my team lost and I'm in a bad mood.
Later on Sunday, I go to the hospital to eat and visit Teresa. I'm at the cafeteria to pay for a visitor's tray (great deal, anything on the menu for $5.75) and I discover that I only have $3 cash on me. I give the cashier my debit card. Unfortunately, they don't take plastic. So I ask him if there is an ATM.
"Yes, there is an ATM, but don't bother," the cafeteria worker said. "I got it."
He reaches for his wallet and takes out $6 and puts it into the register. I'm stunned and say, "Did you just pay for it?"
He said, "You know, I have to be here because this is my job. You're here because your wife is sick and she is here. I try to help people out when I can."
Still stunned, and quite frankly, embarrased by my earlier actions, all I can do is shake his hand and thank him.
I asked the girl who brought up my tray to Teresa's room what his name was and described him. She smiled and said, "That sounds like Chris. He does things like that all of the time."
Well, Chris, you're a better man than me. You reminded me that there is hope in this world and maybe there is still hope for me.
Once again, I'm not going to sweat the small stuff. I owe it to Chris.
No comments:
Post a Comment