Forced Perspective

I was all thumbs this week.

We reopened my restaurant.  By the time the weekend was over, my staff and I had completed a litany of mortifying mistakes, including burning dozens of cinnamon rolls, breaking an espresso machine, and serving meat to a vegetarian.  After 3 months of quarantine, our once seamless dining room dance around each other had turned into a series of accidental body checks and spilled mimosa flights.  But the strangest part?

None of it was mortifying.

In fact, it was the opposite.  We laughed a lot.   We shook off what went wrong.  Customers were (for the most part) understanding.

And we owe it all to a deadly virus.

Reader, as tragic as tragedy is, it certainly does have a way of forcing us to have perspective.  After all: in a world that's hot with racial tension, political fury, and a raging pandemic, what's a few burned pastries here and there?  Overall, I'm counting our restaurant reopening as a resounding success.  Nobody got hurt, physically or mentally, and our outdoor seating area was a hit.  Looking forward to a week of more of the same.  Wishing you this same forced perspective; see you next Monday. -Em

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