The Night of the Round Tables

I turned the corner and was greeted by a jovial fellow with a red sweater pulled over his well-fed frame. He looked up from his smart phone and announced his new-found intelligence. "The Cowboys are winning!" He exclaimed. The excitement was quickly overtaken by the football fan's fondness for food. We had come to the right place: the Canyon Creek Presbyterian Church Christmas potluck dinner. A second empty hallway gave way to a grand hall decked with festive Christmas decorations, two glass backboards, and a sturdy tile floor. It looked more like a converted church. A few dozen early arrivals milled about the maze of round tables. Huddled around the water cooler was a middle-aged man discussing the Cowboys game with a few friendly fellows. "The Cowboys are winning" he exclaimed. What he lacked in originality he more than made up for in enthusiasm as he rambled off a string of stats while acting as though he didn't have an internet-capable smartphone in his hand. When the statistician's spiel sputtered, the football fans turned their gaze longingly at the line of homemade food in the center of the room. I followed their line of sight to find a row of tables covered in dishes that held everything needed for a sumptuous Christmas feast. My reverie was interrupted by an approaching woman. She wore a red sweater, white turtleneck, dark blue jeans, black shoes, and a gold necklace. Her hair was graying, her size was diminuitive but not slight. She had a confident demeanor and a cheerful disposition. The lady spoke, "Are you visiting?" Her sentence seemed to end prematurely, so I sought clarification. "Where?" I asked. The lady then said, "Are you visiting here at the church?" The answer seemed obvious as did the question. She had spotted me from across the room and must have seen that I came without kids, without parents, and without a smartphone updating me on the Cowboys game. This might have sparked the lady's curiosity to inquire about my presence at the dinner. She introduced herself as Ann. I introduced myself as Drew. Just then, the hostess of the dinner spoke up, presented a prayer, and instructed staff members to eat first. Ann was a staff member. She insisted that I join her at the front of the line. We filled our plates as the tables emptied out to form long lines of people behind us. When my foam plate was about to snap, I dropped the serving spoon back in the chicken and put both hands under my plate. A few tables away, Ann was now desperately trying to get my attention. "We're sitting over here" she announced. I looked around the room. Nearly every table was empty except hers. The room had been vacated to create the seemingly endless lines behind me. I found Ann's table without any trouble and sat down across from her and her husband. A moment later, a family full of kids with plates full of food swarmed around the table. Through a smattering of remarks and complaints, I learned that the group had somehow reserved the table before getting up to go through the food line. The formerly frustrated family filled the table until only Ann and her husband remained. I didn't protest too much as I stood and gathered my dinner once again. Ann watched as her most courted guest slowly moved to find a new seat. At the adjacent table, there was one open seat. The chair backed into Ann's seat as I sat down to finally start dinner. I looked around to find that no one at the table had any food. They were all waiting for the long lines to run their course so they wouldn't have to stand up for so long. After a moment of introductions, they all left to get dinner while I ate mine. Just as I was finishing my food, everyone returned to their rightful places at the round table. On my right was an elderly gentleman sitting next to his wife. A man and his family sat to my left and filled the rest of the table. The more experienced misses was discussing Christmas traditions with the mother of the kids. "At Christmas, what do we usually put out first?" she wondered aloud. "The cat" said the old man. He laughed heartily at his own quip while the two little girls stared with big, puzzled eyes and slack jaws at the man and his wife. We overcame the generational differences and got along quite nicely through the rest of the dinner. As it came time to finish dinner, a small group of men and women appeared in a hallway overlooking the dinner hall. With only their voices, they slowly began reverent recitals of classic Christmas carols. The conclusion of their repertoire signaled the end of dinner. I remembered the way out and left for home.