The Art of Caring

I am sitting in the lounge at a hotel in Seattle. It is just me and about thirty businessmen, one family, and football highlights on a television too far away (is that Pittsburgh black-and-yellow perhaps?)

I am feeling mellow after a lazy thirty minute workout on the elliptical. Every time I stepped up, I was within an half inch of the ceiling. Did they not think to maybe raise the roof a little?

After five minutes of sitting and not one of the six or seven underworked servers coming by my table, I holler one over. I already have the restaurant pegged. I’ve waitered in a dozen places, I know how it works. The prima donna server who won’t say hello to customers outside her station. The busser who won’t make eye contact. The manager who’s in love with the sound of his footsteps. I’ll stop right there, I won’t bore you with a rundown of each server, but for an expensive hotel near the airport, the place needs serious training. No one cares. This joint could use an Anthony Melchiorri or a Robert Irvine.

When I was a server, I cared about people. I made sure with each table, my customers, enjoyed their meal. My weakness was education about wines and exotic foods. And I did not care enough to get into it. After trying restaurant leadership (supervisor and assistant manager), I got burnt on the field. Fortunately, the Navy took me. But my point is, I cared.

Another story on caring, albeit an interesting (possibly misplaced) caring, is this tale about a model named Carley Watts. She met a Muslim gentleman named Mohammad Salah who changed her life:

A British model and mom is ditching her life of posing in lingerie for one of modesty and obedience as a Muslim wife, said U.K. reports on Monday.
“Meeting Mohammed has made me really look at my life,” Carley Watts, a model who regularly bares almost all for publications such as Elite Online Magazine, told the Sun about her lifeguard boyfriend, Mohammad Salah. She added, “My friends think I’m mad and that this is just a phase.”

You know how many Mohammad Salah’s I’ve seen? Many. As for caring, tomorrow I fly to Japan. And I’ve heard the place has unparalleled customer service and no tipping.

Physical Readiness Test

The Navy PRT is our Physical Readiness Test. We take it twice a year, usually in the spring and in the fall. In autumn, it occurs around October or November. Woe be you if your PRT pops right after Thanksgiving, which mine did. Today.

It went well. I will just say outright that I got an Excellent. Not an Outstanding, a score I’ve received in the past. But just not today. For me to get an Outstanding, I have to get a little aggro. And it helps if I don’t have a lot to do right after my test. An hour to recover or so usually works. This time, a meeting was scheduled after our PRT. And I pushed myself, fairly rigorously, just not overboard.

My hardest event was always the sit-reach. It involved sitting down and extending your legs straight in front of you. And then when the test proctor told you, you reached for your toes. For some reason, when I was issued my body, my arms were a half-inch too short and my legs were a half-inch too long. No complaints on anything else, though. Except for my tight hammies. (Which may be the reason my sit-reach is so poor. This is turning into a circular argument!) If you can’t tell by the past-tense, sit-reach is no more. The Navy, in its infinite wisdom, canned it. I really should rejoice.

All in all, a good day pt’ing. Situps, pushups, and a cardio event. (In my case the elliptical trainer. I know. Forgive me.)

You get any good PT in today?