Strands of Silver: The subtle highlights of experience worn gracefully by the Heroines who’ve earned them. These are the stories told through time, passed down with love, and marked with strength. They honor the women who are reinventing, celebrating, and owning every chapter of their Heroine journey – who wear their strands with honor and let life’s breeze guide them into the next chapter. After all, Seventy is the new Fifty. Fifty is the new Thirty. Silver is the new Bombshell Blonde.

I’m guessing when the waiter woke up that morning, he had no idea the mortification he would suffer just hours later on his shift at my favorite Denver restaurant.

I’m guessing Casey clung to the hope which springs eternal in the server’s heart: a profitable day, generous tippers in his bay.

I’m guessing the waiter’s name wasn’t even Casey, but I’ll call him that to protect his identity.

From opposite sides of town, hearts light, sun shining bright, we each headed to Racine’s—he to serve tables, I to meet my friend Dana, as I do once a month.

But no, the outlook wasn’t brilliant for Casey in his bay. And the outlook wasn’t brilliant for me either on that day.

Our two worlds were about to collide.

Dana and I were deep in conversation, catching up on a month’s worth of news. Waiters bustled to and fro, the smells of deliciousness wafting past.

Animated chatter in the background, laughter all around, belied the fiasco that was seconds from transpiring.

But I could see it from my seat, from the booth in Casey’s bay. I could see the hoodoo coming, the upheaval to ensue.

CRASH!

Several feet from us, the circular tray meant for someone else’s table slid from our server’s hands. Colorful meals of varying sorts soared past Casey in his bay.

My eyes opened wide when I saw what was headed my way. And here’s what seems impossible: the bowl stayed on the ground while its contents flew towards me. A sphere of something white came hurtling through the air, the arc of the trajectory flawless.

It was a slow-motion nightmare. Inch by inch, my fate approached as I sat helplessly in its path.

Then SPLAT. In an instant, my hair, my face, my neck, my arms—and even further down—were drenched in sour cream.

A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of Racine’s.

There was no ease in Casey’s manner as he stood there paralyzed, no pride in Casey’s bearing, no smile lit Casey’s face.

An awkward gasp erupted from the crowd in Casey’s bay, followed by a collective “Ewwwwww!”

Out of nowhere raced the frantic manager, wet rags to help me out. He swabbed my hair, my face, my arms, all eyes on him and me. I thanked him kindly, said I’d clean myself, at which he breathed, relieved, “Oh, whew!”

Dana empathized, Casey sympathized, both asked if I was okay.

I laughed. “Of course I am! I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Lunch is on us, ladies,” Casey promised. Well, actually it was on me, but I didn’t think he would appreciate a joke right then.

With grim melancholy on his face, he offered his regret. “I’m so sorry. I feel horrible.” Dear Casey in his bay.

This was one of those myriad junctures that come our way each day. I could choose to make him even more miserable than he already was, or I could woman-up and be kind. It wasn’t Casey’s fault. I can only imagine what disasters could take place if I were the one trying to balance that behemoth tray laden with heavy plates.

I smiled. “Casey, it could happen to any of us. Don’t give it another thought.”

Why sweat the small stuff? I mean really, why? In the greater scheme of things, what’s a bunch of sour cream in the face? A little comic relief is what it is.

Casey may have struck out in his mind, but in mine, I thought he deserved a huge tip.

He got it.

And Racine’s still has my undying loyalty.

*Apologies to Ernest Lawrence Thayer for my blatant borrowing of phrases from “Casey at the Bat.”

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When did you show kindness when someone was embarrassed? When has someone done that for you? Leave your answer in the comments below! 

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business owner, entrepreneur, kindness, October 2015 Issue, patience, women in business