Read Online Sisterchicks in Gondolas! by Robin Jones Gunn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Jones Gunn
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get it.” I trotted quickly to the front door. But when I opened it, no one was there. Then I remembered seeing a buzzer system at the wooden door on the street level.
Propping open the front door with a chair, I took the three flights of stairs quickly and entered the dark entryway. The light worked as it was supposed to, and I put my hand to the doorknob, out of breath.
Sam was much older than when I last had seen him. But he still was full of energy. Still young on the inside. His clear eyes smiled at me behind his silver-rimmed glasses. Everything about the man spoke of peace. He had seen much but wasn’t afraid.
“Jenna, look at you! Oh, it’s good to see you.”
“It’s great to see you. Come in. Welcome!”
Five men filed in behind Sam, each looking travelweary but quick to shake my hand. I tried to guess who was who from the list I’d prayed over earlier.
“Did you receive a second set of keys for us when you checked in?” Sam asked.
“Yes, they’re on the table in the entry. Wait until you see this place. It’s amazing. Sue is up in the apartment, and dinner almost is ready. I’m so glad all of you made it here safely.”
“Malachi was delayed on his flight from Kenya,” Sam said. “He should arrive later tonight.”
“We’ll save some dinner for him. What about the rest of you? Would you like to go to your rooms first or eat?”
The men started up the stairs, talking with each other but without answering me.
What followed was a transition into my new role. I realized the implications of being a servant. Vital but nearly invisible. This wasn’t my home. These weren’t my guests. Sue and I were, in some ways, their guests. We were well-rewarded facilitators hired to serve them.
I felt humbled as I followed the men into the apartment. Each of them selected a room without much discussion. They washed up quickly and took their places around the dining room table. The difference between how men and women generally respond in similar situations was amazing to consider.
I let Sue know they were ready to be served. She and I moved in and out of the dining room, delivering food,refilling crystal goblets, and removing china plates without so much as eye contact from most of the men. One of the men, Peter from India, glanced at me and said the food was good. I quietly apologized to him for the simplicity of the meal, explaining that we hadn’t been to the grocery store yet.
Peter assured me the meal was plentiful. I nodded and withdrew to the kitchen where I considered the abundance of food I was around every day. Not only what I ate but also what passed through my hands at the grocery store where I worked.
When the meal was over and all the plates cleared, the men leaned closer over the table and dove deeper into their conversations. Sam looked up as I was removing his plate and asked about the chance of having some coffee or tea.
Sue reported to me in the kitchen that our inventory included only four tea bags. I boiled water in a saucepan, and we let the bags steep for about five minutes. Serving the tea without milk, we placed on the table a china sugar bowl half full of hard sugar lumps. Every man was given a single cup of the stretched tea. On the table we placed a white china teapot filled with the worn-out tea bags floating in hot water in case any of the men wanted a second cup. None of them seemed to notice the refills or us.
“It sure is different serving men than serving women,” I said once we were back in the kitchen.
“I’m glad they aren’t too picky about what we’re givingthem,” Sue said. “Although I’ll sure feel better once we get to the grocery store.”
I told her about my thoughts on the abundance of food available to us every day. Then I leaned against the edge of the kitchen sink and kept my voice low. “I could never do this for a living.”
“What? Wait on tables? Were you never a waitress?”
“No.”
“Well, I worked at a restaurant for two
Propping open the front door with a chair, I took the three flights of stairs quickly and entered the dark entryway. The light worked as it was supposed to, and I put my hand to the doorknob, out of breath.
Sam was much older than when I last had seen him. But he still was full of energy. Still young on the inside. His clear eyes smiled at me behind his silver-rimmed glasses. Everything about the man spoke of peace. He had seen much but wasn’t afraid.
“Jenna, look at you! Oh, it’s good to see you.”
“It’s great to see you. Come in. Welcome!”
Five men filed in behind Sam, each looking travelweary but quick to shake my hand. I tried to guess who was who from the list I’d prayed over earlier.
“Did you receive a second set of keys for us when you checked in?” Sam asked.
“Yes, they’re on the table in the entry. Wait until you see this place. It’s amazing. Sue is up in the apartment, and dinner almost is ready. I’m so glad all of you made it here safely.”
“Malachi was delayed on his flight from Kenya,” Sam said. “He should arrive later tonight.”
“We’ll save some dinner for him. What about the rest of you? Would you like to go to your rooms first or eat?”
The men started up the stairs, talking with each other but without answering me.
What followed was a transition into my new role. I realized the implications of being a servant. Vital but nearly invisible. This wasn’t my home. These weren’t my guests. Sue and I were, in some ways, their guests. We were well-rewarded facilitators hired to serve them.
I felt humbled as I followed the men into the apartment. Each of them selected a room without much discussion. They washed up quickly and took their places around the dining room table. The difference between how men and women generally respond in similar situations was amazing to consider.
I let Sue know they were ready to be served. She and I moved in and out of the dining room, delivering food,refilling crystal goblets, and removing china plates without so much as eye contact from most of the men. One of the men, Peter from India, glanced at me and said the food was good. I quietly apologized to him for the simplicity of the meal, explaining that we hadn’t been to the grocery store yet.
Peter assured me the meal was plentiful. I nodded and withdrew to the kitchen where I considered the abundance of food I was around every day. Not only what I ate but also what passed through my hands at the grocery store where I worked.
When the meal was over and all the plates cleared, the men leaned closer over the table and dove deeper into their conversations. Sam looked up as I was removing his plate and asked about the chance of having some coffee or tea.
Sue reported to me in the kitchen that our inventory included only four tea bags. I boiled water in a saucepan, and we let the bags steep for about five minutes. Serving the tea without milk, we placed on the table a china sugar bowl half full of hard sugar lumps. Every man was given a single cup of the stretched tea. On the table we placed a white china teapot filled with the worn-out tea bags floating in hot water in case any of the men wanted a second cup. None of them seemed to notice the refills or us.
“It sure is different serving men than serving women,” I said once we were back in the kitchen.
“I’m glad they aren’t too picky about what we’re givingthem,” Sue said. “Although I’ll sure feel better once we get to the grocery store.”
I told her about my thoughts on the abundance of food available to us every day. Then I leaned against the edge of the kitchen sink and kept my voice low. “I could never do this for a living.”
“What? Wait on tables? Were you never a waitress?”
“No.”
“Well, I worked at a restaurant for two
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