This past Christmas Eve, we had just returned from a candlelight church service back to the Peabody Hotel in Memphis to have dinner at the hotel’s Italian restaurant, Cappacio’s. From my view, I watched the staff scurrying with meaningful steps between the kitchen and the tables. Carl, the food and beverage Manager, was amongst them, rushing around, too. It soon became entertainment to me. The pace was steady. There were 10 or 12 dashing about. No one stopped to speak or, for that matter, look at a fellow server. They were intent on serving tables quickly. When my pasta arrived, it was gloriously hot.