My Industries of Restaurant and Religion

So I picked up this book the other day and oh my goodness, this guy is whacko! All I did was read the preface and I was laughing so seriously out loud on the city bus. Five pages and one commute home later, the author had managed to validate a whole section of my life. That would be the section of my life spent in "the restaurant industry." And he unleashed way more self-psycho analysis than I ever thought imaginable.

You might want to save yourself and log outta here right now. Or you could follow me into the walk in cooler and I'll tell you how "the restaurant industry" got me a gig in "the religion industry."

It started in high school when I gave up cheerleading for chicken. It's true. I was a cheerleader, and to be honest I kind of enjoyed it. But I turned in my pom poms when I realized that to be a cheerleader also meant that I could no longer dash off after school to gut whole chickens, cut them into 9 parts -- 2 thighs, 2 wings, 2 ribs, 2 legs, and 1 breast -- and bread and broast them. Why even seek to be cute in a letter sweater when I could opt for late night cleanings of stale vats of french fry grease? When I could enhance my teenage angst with self inflicted acne? And why even think about studying for college scholarships when there are heads and heads of cabbage to be hand chopped in order to make buckets of cole slaw? Friends, I have just given you a fairly comprehensive summary of my high school years, where my career in "the restaurant industry" started.

Why? Why would I give up potential popularity for poultry? Why? I just don't know. But I think it is linked to the reason that I actually enjoyed it when a former boss (who will remain nameless but you know who you are) would leave two feet of paperwork in my inbox on the eve of his departures for, say, Azerbaijan or Burkina Faso. Twenty four inches of fixing, faxing, filing and pure paper-pushing. And I loved it. What better thing to do in New York City? But I digress.

There were times when I thought it was my destiny to waitress; cook short order; wash dishes; serve up cocktails; or at least work the counter at Hardees fast food joint, which pretty much describes my college years. While others were landing cool internships; applying for grad school in, say, London; entering the Peace Corps; having an affair with some professor; or learning their third language; I would return to my roommates in late night stinky brown polyester that made the whole apartment smell like cheeseburgers. I would try to quit my Hardees job. But then would go back and ask for my job back. And they always gave it to me. Come to think about it, I still dream that I am asking for my Hardees job back. "Oh no!" My room mates would say in despair. "Not that uniform again!"

In hindsight I really should have just jumped right into waitressing, because that's where the money is. I still have my black waitress apron because it remains my plan B to this day. I can put up with demanding customers, arrogant cooks, and incompetent owners as good as anyone. Anthony Bordain though, well, he writes the truth of it all with such hilarity, and so I can now also reconcile my time and space in "the restaurant industry."

When I decided that it might be fun to spend a summer working at a Bible camp, it was my experience in "the restaurant industry" that got me in. You see while I may look all Lutheran up and down right now -- I mean, for land sakes I'm about to become a pastor's wife and all. But deep down inside I'm a waitress and that's really it. I was so darn unqualified to work at a Bible camp it was ridiculous. And the good people at Lutherans Outdoors in South Dakota knew that and so they did not sign me as camp counselor, where I would actually influence little human beings. They put me in the kitchen, and only at the last minute when someone else backed out. I got the job as baker. Little did I know, my career in "the restaurant industry" would start it's transition to "the religion industry" in that summer.

What a glorious June, July, and August! Baking bread by the lake at Camp Ne So Dak. The Bible study theme, for the staff who were qualified to lead Bible studies, was "Good News." And all summer they would ask the campers, Have you heard the Good News? As an extroverted kitchen staffer I got into it too and would join in the singing and the skits. I too would enthusiastically ask, Have you heard the Good News?! Although inside my head I was wondering exactly what they meant by Good News. That's the cool part of experiential learning. You touch and taste Good News. You hear and feel Good News. No one ever told me, but somehow I figured it out in all the fun and the friendships.

The Good News is that you can not earn your way to heaven. It is a free gift. It's the Grace of God that comes to us regardless of who we are, or where came from. I guess you could say that summer changed my life because that was a pretty amazing message to touch, taste, see, smell, and hear while I was kneading dough and shaping buns. And telling bad jokes in the walk in cooler.

And that's probably why I can seem a bit irreverent to the classically trained in the religion industry. I'm all for that and stuff. I mean my husband is classically trained in the religion industry and he thinks I'm irreverent. But I also think that it just doesn't have to be that complicated. Most things don't have to be.

To be honest, I miss "the restaurant industry." I think it would be great to just waitress and write. And even learn how to cook myself. My brother-in-law really is a chef, and he's not even arrogant. Oh my goodness, can he ever cook. If he ever throws in his CEO gig and opens a restaurant, I'll apply for a waitress position.

Anywho, as I said, the preface to this book on my commute home just unleashed a whole lot of thinking. So this got long. I am offering apologies for any of you who might actually still be with me on this one. And if it's any consolation, I'm actually holding back.

Read that book and laugh! Thank you, Mr. Anthony Bordain.

With love, T