Motivation for making your bed

At some point during the day, week, or month, you’re going to run into someone you don’t know. A complete stranger. You see them at the store, at the gas station, or at dinner. And they’re going to remember you. And they will, at that very moment, hate you. You will be forever embedded in their mind as that asshole at the store, gas station, or dinner.  

I know it seems unreal. I mean, I never think of myself as an asshole to strangers. Family yes, strangers no way. I’m polite. I’m generally kind or pleasant. I’m not rude for no reason. But now this person, because of some unfortunate event, thinks I am. 

Yesterday was my day.

I don’t make excuses, but there was a disturbance in my force yesterday. Things were just not normal for me. Long story short, as we walked in to the restaurant for lunch my mind was somewhere else, and that’s when it happened. That’s when I became somebody’s "Asshole".

An old Navy Seal once said that if you want to change the world you start off by making your bed. Making your bed each morning gives you a feeling of accomplishment to start your day. Then it snowballs. One accomplishment leads to another which leads to another and another. And in order to change the world we have to accomplish tasks, and change lives. We start with simple things, sometimes mundane tasks but done correctly, repeatedly,  will change lives. Your life, along with others. 

I followed my family inside the restaurant. The line was backed up to the entryway and standing room was limited. As I squeezed in I noticed a dog inside the restaurant; service dog. It didn’t bother me, I just took notice. I step aside trying to make room as an elderly woman pushing a walker came toward me. Now in hind sight I should have gone back out the door and held it open for the lady, but again I wasn’t exactly focused at the time. I was thinking about the events from earlier in the morning, the dog, and the restaurant in general.  

A young lady quickly works her way past the old lady with the walker, shouts, “I got it, Thanks, and opens the door”. It was directed at me. She didn’t call my name say hey mister  or you there. But it was a shot at me, and It was at this very moment that I knew… I was her Asshole.

It bothered me, still does just a bit. I wasn’t being rude. I didn’t slam the door in her face or try to trip the old lady as she rolled by. I simply didn’t hold the door open for her. A small mundane task that has forever put me in the “that asshole at Fazoli’s”category.