They were right.
I approved a different material.
That afternoon, I called my father.
"Guess what?"
He laughed.
"What broke?"
"My pride."
He laughed harder.
I told him the story.
When I finished, he said, "Good."
I frowned.
"Good?"
"Means you hired people who know what they're doing."
I smiled.
"Apparently."
He continued.
"Now listen when they tell you something."
I rolled my eyes.
"Yes, Dad."
He laughed.
Some lessons never changed.
The young server from the gala eventually became a full-time event coordinator.
She was good at it.
Organized.
Thoughtful.
Able to handle difficult schedules without making everyone around her miserable.
She understood service because she'd performed it.
She knew what it felt like to carry trays for hours.
To reset tables after midnight.
To deal with guests who believed paying for an event gave them permission to insult staff.
And she became determined to create a better experience for the workers she supervised.
Several months after her promotion, she called me.
Her voice was excited.
"I got the job."
I smiled.
"I heard."
She laughed.
"No, I mean the big one."
I sat straighter.
"What big one?"
She explained that she'd been selected to coordinate a major charitable arts event in New York.
It would involve hundreds of guests, multiple vendors, and a complex production schedule.
She was frightened.
But thrilled.
I congratulated her.
Then asked whether she had the support she needed.
She said yes.
Her company had assigned an experienced mentor and additional staff.
Then she became quiet.
"Can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
She took a breath.
"I almost quit hospitality after that night."
My expression softened.
"I understand."
She continued.
"I thought maybe the manager was right. Maybe I wasn't good enough for those kinds of rooms."
I looked toward the window.
She laughed softly.
"Now I'm the person planning one."
I smiled.
"Exactly."
She paused.
Then said, "I still think about the money."
I waited.
"How everybody watched it fall."
Her voice trembled.