I was assigned the dining room this morning at work and I had a JW at the first booth. I recognized her by her bible made larger because of the included reasoning book. I got a kick out of recognizing her in this way. Anyway, as I walked by her booth, she asked me if there was a manager on duty. I told her the manager's first name and pointed toward the registers. With a look of fanatic determination, she made a beeline for the front of the restaurant with two magazines. I moved in close enough to hear the exchange.
"Are you Barb?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Well, I have these two magazines I thought you'd like to read."
"Well, we don't really," Barb started to say but saw the determination in the lady's eyes. "Oh, OK, just set them there." She pointed to the shelf where the customers can pick up their lattes and cappuccinos.
When I saw that she had left the magazines, I wanted to run over and toss them in the trash. I would have done it, too, but they weren't given to me and even though I think those magazines are pure garbage, they were technically the property of the manager. I walked around the store for a couple minutes, trying to decide if I should say something about having once been indoctrinated by the JW and how dangerous they are. Finally, I strolled up to the front of the store and noticed the magazines were gone. Then something grabbed my attention out of the corner of my eye. It was the magazines, moved to where they truly shine, the garbage can. Somebody else properly ascertained their value.
But what made me think the most about this whole exchange was how the JW asked to speak to the manager. Apparently, only managers deserve their literature or they deserve it first. Maybe salvation is like Reaganomics and trickles down hill.
BTW, I changed the name of the manager to protect her identity.