No Menus

Hannah and I went out to dinner to a restaurant a few days ago, and something happened that will probably stick with me for a while.

But first, let me preface that with a story that happened back in 2004, about a month before we got married. Hannah and I got married in October of 2004, and before this, I was living in Connecticut and she was living in New York. To balance work commutes, friends and family, we made preparations to rent a house in Tuckahoe, New York (Westchester), to be our first humble abode as a married couple.

Now, Tuckahoe is smack dab in the middle of southern Westchester, and about as diverse as Westchester neighborhoods go. Not quite as swanky as Chappaqua, Bronxville or Scarsdale, but not as urban as Yonkers, Port Chester or Mt. Vernon. It is a rather quiet commuter's village, right on the Metro North railway and a pleasant place to live (I recommend it highly for those who work in the city).

So, there I am, cleaning out the apartment for our move, and I decide to take a break and check out the neighborhood shops in the center of Tuckahoe - a little garden / flower shop, a corner coffee cafe place, a few tailor/dry cleaners, two Italian restaurants, two pizza joints, nail salons and a barber shop or two. Oh, and like most town centers, there's a take-out Chinese restaurant.

Hannah mentioned to me that she'd like me to look into picking up a few terra cotta pots if possible, and the little garden flower shop seems perfect. And so I decide to walk around and pick up as many restaurant menus as possible on the way to the garden shop. Finally, I make my way inside and then I hear a shrill voice and see a woman waving her arms and shooing me out the door:

"Hey! No menus! No menus!"

I look around. Who is the woman talking to?

"Didn't you hear me? I said, I DON'T WANT NO MENUS. no speaky english?"

Ummm, was she talking to me?

Apparently, she was talking to me. I was holding a few menus in my hand, and apparently that meant I must be one of those errand people who drop of menus at every establishment as a form of advertising.

My face got pretty red. And I was embarrassed. Not really for me, of course. My own self-esteem was doing just fine. What made me embarrassed was me imagining how totally flustered the garden shop owner would be, once I started explaining to her that:

1. I was holding menus because I had just moved into the neighborhood.
2. I was visiting her store to look for terra cotta pots.
3. I do speak English quite well - my educational level being (a) New England private school, (b) Harvard University, then (c) Cornell Law School had prepared me well enough to understand, "no menus," as well as understand the faulty basis of that rather inflammatory and offensive statement.

It was one of those moments that there are no words to adequately convey facial expression of the woman as I, very magnaminously, pointed out to her case of mistaken identity. No, sorry, I am just here to look at terra cotta pots. Do you have anything smaller than what you have in the window? No? Ok, thank you anyway. No, no, it's fine. I was holding menus, and I am sure you get plastered with menus of all kinds of restaurants.

****

Anyway.

Flash forward nearly 4 years.

Hannah and I are walking from the parking lot and heading towards the restaurant. And it is a sit-down Chinese restaurant that also delivers.

Out pops an Asian man carrying a large paper bag wrapped in a plastic bag. He's got someone's dinner in his hand. He smiles at me as he passes me and he gives me a slight bow of the head. A very friendly gesture, and I think to myself:

"Jeez, this is why Asian guys get no respect from mainstream America. They are seen as servile and always bowing, and smiling as if the whole world is their superior. That guy should have more pride in himself. He doesn't know me. Just because he's a delivery boy doesn't mean he has to be so humble."

Then I hear a "BOOP. BEEP." The Asian guy (who is carrying only one bag, by the way, which should have been a give-away had I been more observant), unlocks the door to his brand new S65 AMG Mercedes Benz and he's gone. If you don't know what an S65 AMG Benz is, then just picture a very, very nice house. That's how much a S65 AMG runs, if you financed it.

Ooops.

Of course, as I am trying to calm my brain as about a thousand brain cells are all trying to talk at once, a second Asian guy walks out of the restaurant, carrying a bunch of bags, and he also smiles at me, bowing slightly as he juggles the bags and tries to get into the delivery car (it's a pretty good bet that it's a delivery car, since it is wrapped with the restaurant's name and phone number).

****

So, no menus.

It was me saying it, after all.

Christ's humility would have made me bow in return, because it was gesture of community from one human being to another.

Christ's humility would have made me take a step back from the Tuckahoe Garden Shop woman, and would have made me see that that woman's prejudice was a common thread that actually binds us all together, because we are all sinners.

Christ's humility made Him who is without Sin take the place of everyone, including me and the Tuckahoe Garden Shop woman.

No menus.

-David