20 years ago, my boss asked me into his office. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“I have pizzas that need to be delivered!” I replied.
“Someone else can take them.”
Drat! There is nothing worse than watching “good tipping houses” go to another driver.
As I walk toward his back office, I wonder what the topic of this conversation may be. “Maybe he knows that I did not scrub under the freezers last night when closing?...Hmmm…uh oh…maybe someone saw me rear end that SUV last week…the lady said, ‘no damage, don’t worry about it…but still.’”
I am scared, so I mentally work to convince myself that I have been doing a good job. Why just last week I had one customer give me an extra $1 tip!
I remember pulling into his long pot holed dirt driveway. Deep puddles of standing water pock marked his drive like Swiss cheese. Bikes, toy trucks, headless dolls and other unidentifiable relics lined the worn path that led up to the concrete steps…four steps in total. There was a large German shepherd pretending to sleep near the base of the steps. I could see a collar and a thin piece of twine which I hoped was attached…and strong enough to hold him back.
I pulled into the drive and parked my 1981 Plymouth Grand Fury and slipped out of the driver’s side window…(because just like my 1974 Nova of the past…the driver’s side door did not work…well technically it did work…but in order to close it, you would have to lay down on the pavement and kick the door upward as you slammed it closed with your feet…this technique is not conducive to efficient delivery service). With the pizza bag in one hand and the receipt in the other I ran through the gauntlet, jumping over puddles left and right, dodging bikes, trucks and little Suzy’s psycho spooky headless doll. Judging the length of the “leash,” I swung wide to the left, just as Fido ended his sleepless façade and attacked. I leapt to the top of the entire flight of steps as the shepherd bared his pork chop stained teeth and got his neck jerked back. I simultaneously knocked on the door and rang the doorbell. (To do both ensures a higher likelihood of being noticed the first time).
A bearded gentleman opened the door…we make the exchange…he says, “Thanks,” I say “Thanks,” then he says…”here is an extra dollar for your performance.”
My boss, Jerry, sits me down and says, “Ryan, what is going on with your car door?”
“Huh?...What do you mean?”
“Why do you keep climbing in and out of the window?”
“I must say…that you get in and out of your car window than my other drivers do through their door…however, I can’t have one of my pizza drivers…wearing a Pizza Hut uniform…and having the Pizza Hut logo on top of the car…using the window as a porthole. This is not Hazard County…you need to get the car door fixed or you can’t deliver anymore.”
I parked the car at my Dad’s place and began driving a Toyota Celica that burned more oil than it did gasoline…but at least the doors worked.
Shakkah is taking a position of submission. It is translated to worship in English. It is acknowledging someone or something greater than oneself. My boss Jerry was in a position to be honored and so…despite the challenge that it would make in my life…I honored him…all be it…I did it reluctantly. The Old Testament is filled with stories of Shakkah. Stories like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in Daniel chapter 3. These three men treat their king with honor…all though when they are asked to treat their king higher than God almighty, that is where they draw the line. Shakkah is honoring that which is honorable. Is there anyone more deserving of our honor…than God almighty? Shakkah should be given to almighty God when life is both easy…and difficult.