LEANING, section TWO

(Picking up from my training to be a Breakfast Chef . . . chapter 4, page 66 “Life with a Capital ‘L’)

I leaned hard on Doug in that week of training. My inadequacies beamed. I desperately needed help. I learned to lean hard on Charlie, the dishwasher whose expansive English vocabulary ran from, “Oh yeah? Good morning. Here. It’s okay. I don’t comprehend” to “I won’t be in today; I’m sick,” which he learned to say over the phone on Fridays. Charlie stayed busy busting down boxes, sweeping the patio eating area, rolling piecrusts for the pastry chef, slicing fruit for lunch setup, and reaching for me those heavy containers high over my head. I did not mind doing dishes for him on Fridays.

 

In fact, I did not mind any of the work I did, once I learned to flip the eggs back into the pan rather than onto the floor and to handle four or five orders at a time. Once the rhythm of my duties regulated, I was whistling. But in training, I leaned hard on Doug. Leaning a little can involve leaning hard for a little time or leaning light for a long time. But a little lean never means leaning long and hard—that defines “to lean a lot.” Doug and I reciprocated with little leans.

 

Shortly after my husband and sons left for Minnesota boundary waters and I was expertly opening for business at 6:30 A.M., I had reason to lean a little on some friends. The cause of it came in on Thursday of my first week at work. A man ordered coffee. Not “any” man but one who frightened me. He came early, stayed late. He did not speak, he was not social, but he stayed. He watched. He watched me work. He stayed nearly two hours in our small space, with his long blue-jeaned legs, dark leather jacket, wide leather spike wristband, cowboy hat, narrow eyes, and silence. I rejoiced when the place crowded, hoping the crowd would filter his gaze and my growing discomfort. I worked hard in my mind trying to “straighten up.”

 

He was back Friday morning; and Monday, as we opened. By gesture, grunts, and occasional word, he ordered coffee, got refills, and sat. Watching. By Tuesday it occurred to me that if this man proved dangerous the petite pastry chef Alena and I were trapped. The door he came through, and near which he sat, was our only door.  Who would hear us at 6:30A.M. if we screamed? I looked at the chef’s knives hanging in the narrow kitchen and worried. By the middle of my second week of work I wrote, “I was honestly so frightened by his early arrival that my heart sped up, my head created enormous pressure at the forehead and temples and I seriously considered locking myself in the bathroom until he left.”

 

Perhaps he was harmless, even a nice guy. Perhaps I was exaggerating fear. This must be what it means to be neurotic, I thought. Neurotic or not, I leaned a little. I told the manager of my concern. He found my fear exaggerated (read neurotic). 

 

“He’s a little strange, but he’s never bothered anyone.”

 

Leaning is not always rewarded. Mangers solve problems, and mine did by suggesting I call him at home if I had trouble. “I just live ten minutes away,” he said. Gee, why didn’t I feel comforted?

 

I needed support but not event he amazing baker, who entered the restaurant alone two hours before me considered my fear legitimate.

 

“Too sensitive,” she said, growling out of her small body a huge Italian impatience with my fear. She was tough and fearless, this woman who grew up with nearly a dozen brothers. I suppose I looked foolish, sounded odd, but I needed help. I leaned a new direction. I called friends from our church who kindly arranged to eat breakfast out, early. Yes it inconvenienced them. Leaning does. That is why we are so apt to avoid doing it.

 

My friend Linda arrived with her three teenagers for a week’s visit from Colorado. “Blessed are the teenagers who rise early on a summer’s day for they shall receive a large breakfast.” Kids—hers, mine, and friends of my daughter—came early to eat. I refused to “straighten up” or be alone in this small place. My journal says, “I am thoroughly spooked. I dread work. But . . . I go.” That is, I wasgoing. On time—until Thursday of my second week. Instead of my usual departure at 5:30 A.M., I was sleeping.

 

My journal records the events of that morning:

UNBELIEVABLE! I overslept! At ten till six I woke. I quickly called the restaurant to say I am on my way. Linda is madly rushing thought the house waking people to go with us.

  “Alena? This is Barb. I overslept but I will be there in a minute.”

  “Oh Ba-baa-ra,” said the obviously terrified pastry chef in her gravelly voice. “You know that man?”

“The tall one?” I asked.

“Yeah, with the cowboy hat. He’s here! He’s right outside and I’m scared shit!”

“Oh Alena! ‘LINDA!’ I yelled. “That guy is there.” Lin, who owned and managed a restaurant, and knew herself capable of taking over forbid my going. She rounded up kids.

 

Alena continued talking. “And, I don't got the door locked. I think you are coming so left the door unlocked. Can you do something? Hurry please.”

“My friends are coming now. They’ll be there within five minutes. Just stay in the kitchen.”

“Oh, I’m so scared.” She had her eye on the chef’s knives, she said. In case.

 

Can you believe it? He was there. Outside the restaurant door at 5:30A.M. Had I gotten to work on time and walked up to that place  . . . I cannot bear the thought of my fear.

  Linda and five teens converged on the restaurant, entering as the tall man asked for coffee. At home, I decided to call the police.

I explained the situation to a dispatcher—a woman employee alone in a restaurant with the door unlocked and a ‘scary sort of man at the front door.

“What is the man doing?” asked the cool dispatcher.

“He’s doingnothing. We don’t want him to doanything. I just wonder if you could ask a policeman to casually go there for coffee. Just to keep an eye on the situation till my friends arrive. She reluctantly offered “to see.”

    Linda called from the restaurant. “We’re here,” she whispered. Get your manager her fast. This guy is strange. And don’t you dare come here till I call and tell you he is gone.”

 

Now. Add to the morning’s excitement three police cars, lights flashing, six policemen approaching the building, slowly moving up to it and finally, casually, bursting in with this forceful announcement: ”We’ve had a call of disturbance at this location. Is there a problem?”

Oh right. Everyone there stood stockstill. Stunned. Everyone.

 

The police left, without coffee. My manager arrived about an hour later, just minutes after the tall many left. I arrived five minutes after that.

 

Linda managed what I had not. She convinced my boss to have a man on hand for morning openings. Apparently even barging police did us a service. The man did not return again; at least not during my breakfast shift tenure. 

 

I earned a little paycheck. Doug enjoyed a glorious time in Minnesota. He resumed his kitchen and the drama closed. Most leaning does end without deserving headlines, without total exhaustion.

 

All leaning requires a question, the action. First, “Is this something I can and should do on my own?” If so, personal responsibility rises to the fore, and no lean is merited. If not, then act. Ask for help. Theologically speaking, these are the right responses to any paraenesis. That is, any biblical passage that commands personal behavior benefiting community at large and that morally and ethically reflects in us what God has redemptively done for us.

 

About the only drawback to leaning a little is the risk of embarrassment, appearing less than perfectly capable or independent. A little lean usually involves an adjustment of pride or of self-image and requires short spurts of time or effort from others. Or, a long run of light support.

 

Little leans occur often and seldom draw attention. But, to lean a lot? To lean a lot means to swallow pride, to admit genuine worry or concern, to deeply involve people, perhaps even tax them, to depart from a normal course, to unavoidably attract some attention. I learned a lot about leaning a lot from the Gregg family. 

Coming Up: LEAN A LOT     (SCROLL DOWN TO MAKE COMMENTS)