Martha's Table

The majority formed two queues. One for the hot soup, the other for a combo of sandwiches and doughnuts. I was in charge of the sweets. A few had requests – some wanted the chocolate doughnuts; others wanted cookies.

At one point my sandwich buddy – a tall lawyer in the government’s federal service – paused and asked out land – has anyone here not been served at least once yet? The customers were taking a share and returning to the end of the queue. His remark halted the circulating line. The men all paused thoughtfully. Not a single one wasn’t bigger than me.

I still had a tray full of pastries, so I motioned to the man in front. A black man with a baseball cap, grey beard, in T-shirt and long pants. At the pause, he had stepped back respectfully, waiting for other to step up if need be. His patience imprinted on my mind. I motioned to him to step forward, no one had not yet been served. Better to get on with the business of distribution.