Something deep within me cries to be unflappable. But, as this incident from years ago reminds me, flapping can lead to laughing.

Once upon a real time, I was meeting a friend for lunch. I vaguely recalled passing the deli she had suggested, but had never eaten there.

Armed with a few simple directions and a cell phone number, I found the place easily enough. My friend walked over as I stepped from my car. The rest should have been easy: order lunch, pay for it, get it, enjoy a meal with my friend.

Ah, but the menu took up most of one wall. Facing a young woman who stood, pen and pad in hand, I heard the cries of way too many soups, salads, sandwiches and Today’s Specials, insisting, “Pick me! Pick me!”

“What would you like?” the young woman asked.

Unable to answer yet, I asked questions of my own. Pen still poised, she answered my queries; her words, polite; her tone, a tad impatient.

Before my mind had fully decided, it heard my voice placing an order. The young woman wrote on her pad, tore off a page, handed it to me and then turned to my friend, who had a whole new set of questions waiting.

I stood with paper in hand, not knowing what to do next. I didn’t want to ask the order taker another question. She hadn’t asked me for money. There was no cash register at the door. Maybe I’m supposed to pay when my order’s ready, I thought.

On the far side of the long room stood a drink machine flanked by cups. I crossed the room, poured myself ice water and then turned back to find my friend. She stood at a counter midway between where we had ordered and the drink machine. Walking toward her, I was about to ask where she wanted to sit, when she asked me, “Did you pay yet?”

“You’re supposed to pay here,” said the young man behind the counter. He spoke loudly and more than a tad impatiently, eyeing the water I’d dared to pour before forking over the cash. Embarrassed, I set my purse on the counter, dug out my credit card and handed it to him.

While he ran the card through the machine, my eyes fell on a mound of tiny loaves of bread, each separately wrapped.

Banana bread? I wondered. Nut bread of some sort? Then, I spotted a small sign near the loaves. It said, “Tea Bread.” Bread to eat with tea? Bread made from tea?

I was still pondering that sign when the young man handed me the credit card receipt and a pen. At the appropriate place for signing, I wrote, “Deborah Bread.”

A lovely name. A respectable name. But not my name. At least, not the last time I checked.

Okay, so I’m not cool, calm and collected on all occasions. The more flustered I become, the greater the possibility that something will go awry.

But here’s where Ecclesiastes 3 rides to the rescue. It says:

There is a time for everything … [including] a time to laugh. (vv. 1, 4)

In such times, appreciating what’s laughable is even more important than being unflappable.

Ah, yes. It is precisely when anxiety has us wound up in a knot that

A cheerful heart is good medicine. (Prov. 17:22)

Seeing my goof, I burst out laughing.

When the young man behind the counter looked at me even more askew, I told him what I’d done. He couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh, but his face softened into a big grin.

As I edited the name on my credit card receipt, he leaned over and whispered charitably, “We’ll just keep this between you and me.”

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I first told this true story in my Perspective newspaper column, published Oct. 3, 2003.

Image by congerdesign from Pixabay

See also

• When I worry, God doesn’t shame me
• Email response paralysis
• The coat hanger conspiracy
• Smiling just thinking about it