Constant service

I have expressed to Chloe in the past that so very much of my life comes down to service. My volunteering, my day job, many of my relationships. It’s a healthy level of service and broadly painted across my life.

We have times in our house where we are surrounded by vanilla folks, times where we are having fun or gathered for whatever reason. And I know that Madame expects my service in all of these situations. If it’s a funeral, she’s expecting me to have remembered the little packages of tissues. If it’s a football party, she’s expecting that I’ll have remembered all the right “things” we should bring or have available as a host. And tonight I find myself now waiting for guests to arrive for our “orphan’s thanksgiving” kind of event. Our roommate, quite vanilla, is having many of her friends in town before she herself flies south for the winter (and boy will her arms be tired) and gather up for excellent food, drink and fellowship.

In instances like this, I am most often the designated bartender. Helping pour, decant, mix, prepare and concoct that which needs doing. I’m also expected to help keep up on the dishes as we cook and prep. And I am expected to do this without needing to be asked, and I generally do keep up on it. It’s a responsibility, sure, but it’s an opportunity to serve our guests without them even realizing they’re being served. And these are (tonight) a majority of folks who work in service industries, so they will notice, if I’m not subtle enough.

So, I don’t wear a tux, a suit, or an apron, but I’m serving them all. I’m part of the group, but I’m hoping that in the little things that I do for our guests, they’ll all feel more comfortable in our home and that my roommate can concentrate on her guests and laugh and drink and enjoy. And I won’t mind being the one to do most of the kitchen cleanup if it comes to that.

And tomorrow, a completely different kind of service for me, so there’s THAT going on as well. I don’t think I’m a doormat servant, but I do feel that service is part of me. There are people who are happy being the barista or the bartender or the nurse or police officer and all of those are service industry. I seem to find that people who are doormat servants tend to not be great at those things, but perhaps I’m misjudging. I don’t really KNOW all those people who are serving in my life, so maybe I shouldn’t presume. No, I shouldn’t. But I do know I prefer a waiter, bartender or taxi driver (or what have you) that is engaged and happy in what they’re doing. It’s obvious when you’re with someone who is happy serving. And that’s a joy.

Oh shit, I came back to it. Something I tried to focus on a few years ago – sharing joy. I even tried to get a license plate that would express “SHARE JOY” but there aren’t enough letters allowed here. And “SHAR JOY” is just too weird. ;) But yes, I’m happily serving and hopefully sharing my joy with others. And that’s a highly positive thing. And it makes me smile. And a smile this week is a damn good thing.


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