After I graduated from college I moved to Denver for approximately one year at the suggestion of my very cool cousin, Jeff.  Jeffie and his wife Monica let me move in and live with them for about 6 months until eventually I found a roommate and an apartment.  Monica owned a lending business and I worked as a loan officer for her and worked with some really neat small town banks.  I drove my car through mountain passes, over rocky streams to obtain signatures on documents.  Charming.  But I digress.  Anyway, I knew that I had student loan debts coming due and that I would need additional income.  Plus I needed friends.  So about a week after I moved to Denver I began waiting tables at Chili's.  I quickly made some friends that are so dear to me still, to this day, that I will always treasure that year of "walkabout" time. 

One night, after I had been working at the restaurant for a while, I was feeling frustrated and stressed.  I remember being in such a hurry and while I was back in the kitchen I just dropped a huge bowl of... chili?  I don't remember.  Not important.  My darling friend Jaci came to my aid.  We cleaned up the mess, got the new food and had it out pronto.  And as we were cleaning, Jaci looked at me and said, "Man, I'm glad you did that.  I've never seen you drop anything.  It makes you a lot more real." 

For some reason, that stuck with me.  I mean, we're talking 7 years later and I'm still pondering. 

I think there have been several times in my life when I've symbolically "dropped the chili" while trying my best to be perfect.  Sometimes I feel like these "real" moments open the flood gates and allow my imperfections to pour out of every orifice until I'm sitting in the dish room covered with bits of mashed potato, salad dressing, gravy and BBQ sauce.  Guess there's nothing left to do at that point except take a nice, long shower, put on a freshly laundered set of clothes and apron and try again the next shift.