Dessert First
- brsc70
- 5 days ago
- 5 min read
I’m sitting in a small crowd, it’s lunch, and I am contemplating the plate before me—lettuce, meat, a pickle, some cheese. Across the way I notice a young man, not more than 20, also eyeing his lunch with the same contemplation. He has a full plate, same items plus a few.
The difference between him and me, is that he is holding in his hand a Haagen Daas chocolate ice-cream bar. He is staring at it with the fascination of someone who has finally found an oasis after a long dry journey.
He looks at it lovingly and then slowly unwraps it, taking his time, clearly enjoying the moment.
He then does the unthinkable: he starts to eat it. Before. His. Meal.
He is actually having dessert first.
I have heard of this phenomenon but never actually witnessed it, much less personally experienced such. I have seen the quirky sign in a local store selling worn-out cliches: Life is short, eat dessert first. I thought it was cute, but not actually a realistic option.
The young man slowly and methodically eats the entire bar, while his lettuce, cheese, bread, and pickle sit there, waiting patiently, if not a little surprised, just like me. When he is done, he sits there a minute, savoring the moment, eyeing the now bare ice-cream stick appreciatively, nostalgically. I see no remorse, no hint of regret, no embarrassment. Does he not realize what he’s just done?!
He then turns to his real food and digs in, not one ounce bothered by the travesty that has just occurred.
The epiphany hits me like a falling building of bricks, a certain clarity that comes from getting a nice little hammering to the frontal lobe. Maybe you should try that. Maybe you should try eating dessert first once in a while. Maybe you try getting out of your comfort zone, opening the borders a bit, doing something unexpected; shock yourself and maybe, just a little, others as well.
I warm to this idea although I am not sure what it means exactly. It seems God is speaking to me. But is it really a message from the Divine? What in the world does this mean, eat dessert first? From a cultural standpoint? A religious perspective? A personal habits and standards mindset?
I then forget about it. I eat my lunch, meat, lettuce and cheese first. Then, in the fullness of time, I eat my dessert last, as I have been taught, as is proper and acceptable.
A few days later I am in the city of Las Vegas. I’m waiting for my flight home and have some hours to spare so I spend some time walking the downtown strip on this breathlessly bluebird kind of day; cloudless, blinding sunshine, short sleeve warm. I buy a few souvenirs for loved ones, indulge in my favorite In-and-Out burger, gaze at the fantastical sights of this pretentious, artificial, make-believe city.
That’s when I see him.
Clean-cut. Looks like a young Mennonite guy albeit a little bedraggled, his face wrapped in a world-weary expression. He is dressed in what appears to have been nice clothes at one time, now smudged and in need of a good wash. He is periodically bringing a vape to his mouth.
He is also sitting in a gutter, his only company a couple of overflowing garbage cans, twenty feet or so from a busy crosswalk where hundreds of pedestrians are crossing every couple of minutes.
But it is his eyes that strike me. Lost eyes. Dead eyes. Depressed eyes. Sad, weary, over it.
Out of this bluebird sunshiny day comes the thought, like lightning. Why don’t you go sit with him for a bit? Bring some cheer. Remember the out of the box deal? Leaving the comfort zone? Do you recall that little experience you had, eat dessert first? You wondered what that meant?
Uhm, yeah. But I don’t do this. I’ve never sat in a gutter before, never went up to a complete stranger and asked him about his life. Plus, he may be on drugs and is probably not safe. Nope, I don’t think so. I’ll try some out of the box stuff a different day. A more convenient day. Not this day.
The next few minutes portray a dirty drawn-out mental battle scene. I decide I don’t have time, I really need to get going, and so I continue walking. The thought comes again: Really? All of the things you enjoy in life, all the good stuff I’ve given you, and you can’t just go sit with a beleaguered human for a few minutes? I’m not asking much, just go sit there with him.
I turn around, heart pounding. I hope he is not there, I hope he’s gone back to wherever he goes when he’s done guttering. I wait for the walk signal, cross back over the busy crosswalk with all the other scurrying humans, and to my great relief he is gone! Whew! Close call, there.
I turn back. Very relieved.
That’s when I see him again. He’s moved to a different gutter, this time closer to the crowded street, right at the edge of the crosswalk. I say nope, absolutely not, I am not going to sit there, right in front of all those people. Besides, my flight is leaving soon (still 5 hours away, but my head is telling me I really need to get to the airport).
I rationalize. I intellectualize. I justify.
I cross over again, heading back to the car. Resolute. Trying to forget those eyes.
The voice comes again. You are going to regret this later. You know it. Just go sit with him, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to say much. Just sit.
So I turn around yet again. I cross over again. The crowds keep coming, surging, stopping, crossing.
I see him still vaping and staring vacantly at the garbage littered around his feet. Empty Starbucks cups. Cigarettes. Old vape canisters. More plastic.
I walk up to him and get down beside him. Finally. He looks at me surprised. I say the first thing that pops into my head: Hey friend, you don’t really look like you belong here.
There is a very small flicker of interest in his sad eyes, and he lets the vape drop to his side.
I say a few more words, not much; I feel sort of lost and totally out of my element. He tells me his name, where he’s from. I tell him God loves him and so do I. I tell him it’s going to be ok and that I am gonna pray for him.
He says to me, only, “I ‘preciate you.” I say bye.
And go catch my flight.
This dessert first stuff is scary. But you know, I have no regrets.
And isn’t that what we want, and need, in the end? Dessert first, with no regrets?
Ben Friesen
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