I've been thinking today, gosh darn it.

Today I went to lunch with my mom at Costa Vida. 


It was delicious food and absolute fun to just be together for a bit, but I should probably apologize to my mom for being so...somber. I was a little distracted because of the man who served us our food. 


He looked older than the average worker at Costa. Seemed kind of like he'd maybe been a victim of a recently lost job, and had taken a job at Costa to hopefully provide for self and family. He was a very dedicated worker. Despite his dedication, however, he was slower than the other workers at Costa. In fact, I think his dedication was probably to make up for his lack in speed. He did everything required of him to the best of his ability, but it was difficult for him, and you could easily see why: his hands were shaking. 


Before I continue, you should know that I have a thing about hands. When I'm deciding if I think someone is attractive, I often look at their hands. (Seriously...man hands are so great.) But when something is a little off about someone's hands, I notice immediately. I think it originates in the fact that I'm a pianist who has always struggled with particularly small hands. I can appreciate good, big, strong hands, and my sympathy for those who don't have such hands always gets me.


Anyway, when I noticed this man's hands shaking, I instantly started to wonder about his story. I noticed that none of the workers gave him a hard time at all, and for that I was grateful. However, the lady in front of us in line complained to my mom and me about "how slow they're being today" and "usually they have more people working or something" and although she didn't trace it directly to this man, it was easy to see what she thought was the source of the so-called "problem." 


I thought, "How selfish. This guy's just trying to do his job the best he can, and you're in such a hurry to get your food and go that you'll complain here and offer nothing but a stern look there. Stop criticizing the way he makes your salad; if he says the chicken goes on bottom, I'd be willing to bet that it usually does, seeing as how he's probably here more often than you." I know that wasn't very friendly of me in my head--maybe she had her own crisis involving Costa food to get to--but I was just slightly shocked by her manner. 


Ok this story is beginning to have way too much detail. To finish it up quick, we ordered our food, and I made sure to smile lots at him and give a solid "Thank you, sir!" when he passed us on to the next worker. It didn't seem like it made a difference, but at least I can feel like I didn't leave the opportunity to be genuinely thankful behind. 


I once had a best friend, in the summers surrounding my fifth grade year. I met her at a church activity, and we made strawberry jam together. She has hand tremors, which means her hands just shake, for no apparent reason, all the time. You can probably imagine some of the difficulties of having that for your whole life, but to enumerate a few: trouble with writing, judgment and ostracism from other kids at school, spills in the kitchen, necessary extra care in everything, etc. I watched and admired her for the few years we were friends. She handled it way better than I ever would have; this much I know. 


I also watched my grandfather struggle with Parkinson's disease as he got older. As commonly happens, he had shaky hands for quite a while. One of his proudest skills was probably his handwriting; he had absolutely beautiful cursive. But as the tremors progressed, I watched his lovely handwritten script disintegrate more and more with each birthday card. It was incredibly difficult to see that hard-earned talent turn to something unrecognizable. 


I thought of both these examples while we ate our Costa, and I realized that that man probably has people who, unlike the lady before us in line, understand and accept him. I realized that he probably has members of his own support system, kind of how I like to think I was to my friend and my Grampie. There's a good chance that he even was just having a nervous day at work, for all I know. Even still, I was glad to have the chance to watch him and reflect a bit on differences and judgments--how everyone has things they'll struggle with in life, including me, and to judge others by their unchosen lot in life simply reflects poorly on my own character and humility, therefore opening the door for others to judge me in turn. I surely hope that I can continue being the one to say a solid "Thank you, sir!" and never become the one to complain about others' best efforts.