On my day off this past week, I was out running some errands. Around lunchtime, I wanted to grab something to eat and—after considerable debate—decided to get something “healthy” for a change. My wife had been in Florida for several days, but before leaving town, she urged me to be kind to both my gastro-intestinal track and my arteries while she was away. (She knows quite well that—when she’s not around—I have a tendency to gravitate toward those eating establishments that are either heavy on cholesterol-laden cuisine and/ or they have a picture of a pig on their marquee.) Because I knew that very soon I again would be talking with her on the phone, I decided to impress her by choosing a place for lunch that didn’t even have a fryer on the premises.
I stopped in at one of Danville’s popular coffee and sandwich shops. The place had been highly recommended to Sandy and me. In fact, we recently dined there with some out-of-town friends and enjoyed our meal very much. So I knew this would be a good option for me and that with the lighter, healthier fare, Sandy would be quite pleased with my thoughtful culinary choice.
Once inside, I made my way to the counter and ordered a chicken salad sandwich and a Diet Coke, with macaroni salad on the side. (I know I should have opted for the fruit cup instead of the macaroni salad, but give me a break. You can’t give up everything all at once.) After placing my order, I sat down and waited for my meal. While sitting there and contemplating life in general, my eyes began to pan the room from wall to wall. All of a sudden it dawned on me that—while there were many patrons sitting at the various tables—I was the only man in the whole place! Every customer but me was a woman. The presence of numerous shopping bags further indicated that many of the ladies had just returned from a laborious shopping excursion from which they now rested as they verbally relived their experiences over quiche and coffee.
As my sandwich arrived, I continued pondering the fact that no other men were dining there. It had seemed like some guys were there the previous weekend when Sandy and I and our friends ate there. But, then again, maybe there weren’t. Perhaps this was really a girls’ hangout!
I was suddenly awakened from my reverie when there unexpectedly appeared at the doorway an ever growing stream of older ladies all decked out in vibrant red and purple. I couldn’t believe it. It was an invasion of the famous Red Hat Society! Have you ever been to the circus and seen a clown car? You know, where all these clowns just keep piling out of a tiny automobile. This was like that. (Caution: Please note that I am not comparing these women to clowns! Let me be clear about that! I was simply surprised at how many of them there were.) There was one, then two, then three…they just kept coming…four, then five, then six…with sequins, and glitter, and feathers, and brightly colored hats and scarves…seven, eight, nine…they just kept pouring in, armed with shopping bags, and converging on the takeout counter en masse. After a brief discussion of their options, they ordered coffee and snacks for the road. And, in short order (pun intended) the group was out the front door, to their cars, on their way to their next adventure.
As this scene unfolded, I began to lose all hope that anyone of the male persuasion would ever join me in this restaurant. If the Red Hat ladies were so prominent in this place, no self respecting truck driver or mechanic would ever dine here. I suddenly felt outnumbered. Where were all the men of Danville, I wondered. The only guys in the whole place were a couple of young men behind the counter and in the kitchen, and they were maintaining a low profile.
When I finished my sandwich, I slipped out the door and made a discreet exit to the parking lot. I was going to get in my car and quietly drive away.
Immediately upon stepping outside, however, I looked up and there was a pickup truck on fire just a few feet from me. The hood was open and the engine was ablaze. The driver had just pulled off the road, and was seeking to douse the flames with several water containers he happened to have on his truck. He was having little or no success, however, as the water seemed to be no match for the spreading fire.
Instinctively, I started to run over to my own car and see if had a blanket in the trunk that I could use to help him smother the flames. But, on second thought, that didn’t seem to be such a smart idea. So, I ran back into the restaurant I had just quietly exited, and looked to one of the guys behind the counter. “Do you have a fire extinguisher?” He quickly reached nearby and grabbed a conveniently-located cylinder right off the floor. Then, both of us ran out to the burning truck where its owner was clearly losing his battle with the blaze. The restaurant guy lifted the extinguisher tank high and, as the driver stepped aside, shot a powerful chemical blast under the hood of the truck. The extinguisher hissed loudly as it released its contents. The blast hit its target, and a large cloud of dense white smoke billowed upward and outward, enveloping the three of us. In an instant, it was all over. The fire was out. The white cloud had dissipated. The crisis had been averted. And, yes, although the truck was badly damaged, thankfully no one was hurt. And to think that those Red Hat ladies missed all the excitement!
Wow, what a dramatic ending to my otherwise calm and placid lunch! After hanging out in an all-female restaurant, the subsequent macho-man, testosterone-filled action sequence had somehow restored me. As I sped away from the scene in my Aston-Martin (uh, er, I mean my Scion tC)—with visions of James Bond and 24's Jack Bauer in my head—I was re-energized and ready for whatever the afternoon had in store.
"Now, Pastor Danny," you ask, "what does this story have to do with anything?" Nothing, really. I’ve searched high and low for some insightful spiritual parallel, but I haven’t found any as of yet. But I still wanted to tell the story. If, however, you find some great spiritual truth in anything I’ve written, please don’t hesitate to let me know.
By the way, despite anything written above that might indicate otherwise, please know that I’m sure I’ll be eating at the aforementioned coffee and sandwich shop again. The food and service are both great. But, in the future, so as to avoid feeling conspicuous, I definitely won’t dine there alone. I’ll only go if my wife is with me. And, I might even order quiche! But when the two of us do go, we’ll definitely make sure that neither of us wears purple or red.
Pastor Danny
I stopped in at one of Danville’s popular coffee and sandwich shops. The place had been highly recommended to Sandy and me. In fact, we recently dined there with some out-of-town friends and enjoyed our meal very much. So I knew this would be a good option for me and that with the lighter, healthier fare, Sandy would be quite pleased with my thoughtful culinary choice.
Once inside, I made my way to the counter and ordered a chicken salad sandwich and a Diet Coke, with macaroni salad on the side. (I know I should have opted for the fruit cup instead of the macaroni salad, but give me a break. You can’t give up everything all at once.) After placing my order, I sat down and waited for my meal. While sitting there and contemplating life in general, my eyes began to pan the room from wall to wall. All of a sudden it dawned on me that—while there were many patrons sitting at the various tables—I was the only man in the whole place! Every customer but me was a woman. The presence of numerous shopping bags further indicated that many of the ladies had just returned from a laborious shopping excursion from which they now rested as they verbally relived their experiences over quiche and coffee.
As my sandwich arrived, I continued pondering the fact that no other men were dining there. It had seemed like some guys were there the previous weekend when Sandy and I and our friends ate there. But, then again, maybe there weren’t. Perhaps this was really a girls’ hangout!
I was suddenly awakened from my reverie when there unexpectedly appeared at the doorway an ever growing stream of older ladies all decked out in vibrant red and purple. I couldn’t believe it. It was an invasion of the famous Red Hat Society! Have you ever been to the circus and seen a clown car? You know, where all these clowns just keep piling out of a tiny automobile. This was like that. (Caution: Please note that I am not comparing these women to clowns! Let me be clear about that! I was simply surprised at how many of them there were.) There was one, then two, then three…they just kept coming…four, then five, then six…with sequins, and glitter, and feathers, and brightly colored hats and scarves…seven, eight, nine…they just kept pouring in, armed with shopping bags, and converging on the takeout counter en masse. After a brief discussion of their options, they ordered coffee and snacks for the road. And, in short order (pun intended) the group was out the front door, to their cars, on their way to their next adventure.
As this scene unfolded, I began to lose all hope that anyone of the male persuasion would ever join me in this restaurant. If the Red Hat ladies were so prominent in this place, no self respecting truck driver or mechanic would ever dine here. I suddenly felt outnumbered. Where were all the men of Danville, I wondered. The only guys in the whole place were a couple of young men behind the counter and in the kitchen, and they were maintaining a low profile.
When I finished my sandwich, I slipped out the door and made a discreet exit to the parking lot. I was going to get in my car and quietly drive away.
Immediately upon stepping outside, however, I looked up and there was a pickup truck on fire just a few feet from me. The hood was open and the engine was ablaze. The driver had just pulled off the road, and was seeking to douse the flames with several water containers he happened to have on his truck. He was having little or no success, however, as the water seemed to be no match for the spreading fire.
Instinctively, I started to run over to my own car and see if had a blanket in the trunk that I could use to help him smother the flames. But, on second thought, that didn’t seem to be such a smart idea. So, I ran back into the restaurant I had just quietly exited, and looked to one of the guys behind the counter. “Do you have a fire extinguisher?” He quickly reached nearby and grabbed a conveniently-located cylinder right off the floor. Then, both of us ran out to the burning truck where its owner was clearly losing his battle with the blaze. The restaurant guy lifted the extinguisher tank high and, as the driver stepped aside, shot a powerful chemical blast under the hood of the truck. The extinguisher hissed loudly as it released its contents. The blast hit its target, and a large cloud of dense white smoke billowed upward and outward, enveloping the three of us. In an instant, it was all over. The fire was out. The white cloud had dissipated. The crisis had been averted. And, yes, although the truck was badly damaged, thankfully no one was hurt. And to think that those Red Hat ladies missed all the excitement!
Wow, what a dramatic ending to my otherwise calm and placid lunch! After hanging out in an all-female restaurant, the subsequent macho-man, testosterone-filled action sequence had somehow restored me. As I sped away from the scene in my Aston-Martin (uh, er, I mean my Scion tC)—with visions of James Bond and 24's Jack Bauer in my head—I was re-energized and ready for whatever the afternoon had in store.
"Now, Pastor Danny," you ask, "what does this story have to do with anything?" Nothing, really. I’ve searched high and low for some insightful spiritual parallel, but I haven’t found any as of yet. But I still wanted to tell the story. If, however, you find some great spiritual truth in anything I’ve written, please don’t hesitate to let me know.
By the way, despite anything written above that might indicate otherwise, please know that I’m sure I’ll be eating at the aforementioned coffee and sandwich shop again. The food and service are both great. But, in the future, so as to avoid feeling conspicuous, I definitely won’t dine there alone. I’ll only go if my wife is with me. And, I might even order quiche! But when the two of us do go, we’ll definitely make sure that neither of us wears purple or red.
Pastor Danny
