A Bucket of Humility

It'd been one of those days. I had one nerve left and someone stepped on it.

As the executive assistant to the Commanding Officer of a large naval command, I was the first contact for visitors, management and employees.  Since I was heavily involved in the administration of the office, people often came to me for help.

I thrived in the busy office environment and enjoyed the interaction…well, most of the time. On this particular morning, a series of consecutive work incidents had me frustrated, irritated—and unusually intolerant.  My capacity for dealing with “stupid” had peaked.  I was done.

The Executive Officer must have felt the same. Sighing loudly, she came out of her office and leaned on the counter above my desk. “What'd you bring for lunch?”

I shrugged. “Just leftovers.”

She glanced at the clock. “Chicken sounds good. I’ll ask the Skipper if she wants lunch, too. If you fly, I’ll buy!”

I nodded and grabbed my purse.

I drove off the base, navigated the lunchtime traffic and turned into the parking lot of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Apparently, dozens of others had a hankering for the Colonel’s extra-crispy poultry. There was only one parking spot left—and the van beside it had parked over the line.

I grumbled and squeezed my car into the tight parking space.

I carefully got of my car, making sure not to ding the car on the other side of me, and hurried to the door.  I opened the door and took a step back as a group of men in military flight suits and leather flight jackets exited.  Not one of them acknowledged my presence—or notice that I was holding the door for them.

I grumbled again.

Those flight students may be officers—but they needed to be schooled in how to be gentlemen.  Especially here in the south.  Hadn't they learned anything from Richard Gere's character in An Officer and a Gentleman?

As I stood in line to order, the more I thought about the door-incident, the more I stewed.

What happened to good old-fashioned manners? And just who were these flight students trying to impress anyway—wearing leather flight jackets in the middle of July?

I crossed my arms.

I wished the Executive Offier had been there with me, because no matter how handsome those flyboys were, she would've called them out—among other things—on their failure to maintain a regulation haircut.

It was at that precise moment that an unfortunate soul crossed my path. He was scruffy, loud and had the nerve to invade my personal space. He leaned much too close and, as he pointed in the direction of the flight-suit clad men who were now getting in the van, asked with wide eyes, “Do you think they’re movie stars?”

Bless his heart.  I didn’t even try to be polite. I rolled my eyes and blurted, “You do know that the Navy base, just down the street, trains flight students, right?  And that those students patronize local restaurants?”

I gave the man a condescending once-over, concluding he’d watched Top Gun too many times. I stepped away from him and waited impatiently for my order.

Back in the office, as we sat around the lunch table, I shared about my KFC encounter.

I disregarded the twinge of guilt in my gut—about how rude I’d been—and continued to tell the details with dramatic flourish. While I had a captive audience, I elaborated, too, on my misfortunes in life. Like how how I always seemed to attract the nerds of the world but was invisible to the handsome Hollywood-type men.

Their laughter spurred me on. I was quite pleased with my comical story-telling ability. As I basked in their affirming laughter, my day seemed to take a turn for the better.

Later that evening, I turned on the television just in time to see the local news spotlight the cast of a new TV series.  A TV series that was filming on location at the military base. The camera panned the set and there they were…the flyboys from KFC!

Ugh. I quickly turned off the TV, but the scenes of the day continued to replay in my mind.  Vividly. 

My feel-good bubble burst, deflated by the Holy Spirit’s convicion.

I’d been the the common denominator in every situation and every encounter.

I dropped my head.

How had I gotten to the point that I allowed myself to feel superior? To feel justifiably annoyed at what I thought were dumb questions by dumb people? To be so very rude to a man I assumed had a star-struck imagination? And how could I have blatantly disregarded the twinge of guilt when I was story-telling—all for the sake of a laugh?

In my quest to be Christlike, I’d failed miserably.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I thought about how I should have done things differently.

I shouldn’t have been annoyed at my coworkers questions, or rolled-my-eyes when they walked out the door. I should have just held the door for the men in flightsuits and—even though I didn’t know they weren’t actual naval aviators—thanked them for their service.  And I should have been kind to the man in line.

And I certainly should have ordered a bucket of humility to-go.

When pride comes, disgrace follows, but with humility comes wisdom. ~ Proverbs 11:2