My Table For Six
Super Bowl was yesterday, and boy was I excited. There’s nothing like a great game to bring anticipation, thrills to a town. Be it the ads or the actual sport, there is something for everyone.
All the usual watering holes in town had specials; so many pesos would get you into the event. But I waited too long to make plans. When it hit me that I had been left out in the cold, I was dismayed, “No!” I cried. “This just cannot be.”
Late last week, I walked up the beach, then up a road to where I indulge each afternoon with my double espresso. I was to that point in this exercise where my eyes began to open wider, and my body felt alive, when it hit me. There’s a sports bar down this way. I finished my delightful mini cup of potent juice and marched down the walk to the place that would welcome me into their den for this precious football party.
The owner was kind, she reserved me a table, but needed to know how many folks there would be. By this time, my body was armed with the jingle juice. I looked at her through big eyes, and blurted out, “Six.”
I was elated, I had a place to sit for the event. As I walked away, it hit me. “Did I really say six?”
I struggled to think of people who would be fun to watch the game with. Then it hit me. “I’m sitting on something big here, I have a table for six for the most exciting game of the year (well, for some of us).” The thoughts that rambled through my head had me spinning. I had a TABLE.
I began asking friends if they would like to sit at my table, when it became painfully clear that everyone already had plans. “Wait, I knew this, why did I think owning this table would change that?”
A friend suggested a group of folks for the table, but I didn’t want his friends sitting at my table, I wanted my friends. I spent the next couple of days pondering my problem. I even thought of going back and turning in my table so they could re-reserve it. I was ashamed of the selfish thoughts I had been having over this precious table. I contemplated, “I could just give the table to the guy and his friends.” But it occurred to me that I would again be without a seat for the game.
Then it hit me. “I’ll just bet there are others that are gameless like me. I need to keep this table for those who waited too long, for die-hard fans without a table to share.
Sunday came, and I put on my confidence to walked up the beach. I stopped for my eye-jerking double espresso, then stood tall, and walked up to the bar. There were so many people, I didn’t see my “table for six” anywhere. I strained my neck, then heard my name being called. I followed the sound, only to be delighted at the sight of a large table full of happy fans, they were inviting me to sit at their table. I found a chair, told the owner that I wouldn’t need my table for six, and began enjoying the delightful event.
There is a point to this story. There will be times when I hold all the cards in my hand, but I need to refrain from becoming selfish, and inconsiderate. My table nearly ruined me. Taking my ego to new heights, I became picky about who I would spend time with, I became a snob. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror, it was a sorry reflection.
The table episode turned out well, and it left me with new wisdom. No matter how important I become (I may reserve another table one day), the key point here is to remain down to earth, I must not get full of myself. This table lesson could just be the trigger that prevents me from a lifetime of tables for one.
All the usual watering holes in town had specials; so many pesos would get you into the event. But I waited too long to make plans. When it hit me that I had been left out in the cold, I was dismayed, “No!” I cried. “This just cannot be.”
Late last week, I walked up the beach, then up a road to where I indulge each afternoon with my double espresso. I was to that point in this exercise where my eyes began to open wider, and my body felt alive, when it hit me. There’s a sports bar down this way. I finished my delightful mini cup of potent juice and marched down the walk to the place that would welcome me into their den for this precious football party.
The owner was kind, she reserved me a table, but needed to know how many folks there would be. By this time, my body was armed with the jingle juice. I looked at her through big eyes, and blurted out, “Six.”
I was elated, I had a place to sit for the event. As I walked away, it hit me. “Did I really say six?”
I struggled to think of people who would be fun to watch the game with. Then it hit me. “I’m sitting on something big here, I have a table for six for the most exciting game of the year (well, for some of us).” The thoughts that rambled through my head had me spinning. I had a TABLE.
I began asking friends if they would like to sit at my table, when it became painfully clear that everyone already had plans. “Wait, I knew this, why did I think owning this table would change that?”
A friend suggested a group of folks for the table, but I didn’t want his friends sitting at my table, I wanted my friends. I spent the next couple of days pondering my problem. I even thought of going back and turning in my table so they could re-reserve it. I was ashamed of the selfish thoughts I had been having over this precious table. I contemplated, “I could just give the table to the guy and his friends.” But it occurred to me that I would again be without a seat for the game.
Then it hit me. “I’ll just bet there are others that are gameless like me. I need to keep this table for those who waited too long, for die-hard fans without a table to share.
Sunday came, and I put on my confidence to walked up the beach. I stopped for my eye-jerking double espresso, then stood tall, and walked up to the bar. There were so many people, I didn’t see my “table for six” anywhere. I strained my neck, then heard my name being called. I followed the sound, only to be delighted at the sight of a large table full of happy fans, they were inviting me to sit at their table. I found a chair, told the owner that I wouldn’t need my table for six, and began enjoying the delightful event.
There is a point to this story. There will be times when I hold all the cards in my hand, but I need to refrain from becoming selfish, and inconsiderate. My table nearly ruined me. Taking my ego to new heights, I became picky about who I would spend time with, I became a snob. I no longer recognized myself in the mirror, it was a sorry reflection.
The table episode turned out well, and it left me with new wisdom. No matter how important I become (I may reserve another table one day), the key point here is to remain down to earth, I must not get full of myself. This table lesson could just be the trigger that prevents me from a lifetime of tables for one.
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