I woke up at 0300, showered, dressed, and drove to the airport for a connecting flight to ATL. I was so hungry I could hear my stomach grumbling. I was eager to get to ATL so I could grab a meal before flying on to Indianapolis.

The flight to ATL was uneventful save for the heavy man who sat on my right side on the flight. He twitched about every seventeen seconds and sniffed incessantly, as if he were afraid his nasal hairs were escaping downward through his nostrils. Sniff, sniff, he continued. Sniff, sniff.

Finally the plane landed in ATL and I deplaned, took the Plane Train to Councourse A, and went to Low Country, a country place in the airport that serves fare other than fast food.

The two women behind the counter were less than friendly. They came across as only interested in one another’s importance rather than in serving customers.

But a man caught my eye. He was out by the tables, serving customers. His name was Sunday. He had on a nametag and a blue lanyard. He would go to the dispensers containing the plasticware, and he’d methodically dispense a fork, knife, and spoon. Then he’d carefully roll them into two napkins, and come to us customers in line, and say, “Excuse me, sir/ma’am, your plasticware.” And we’d take it. We’d be almost caught off guard because of the contrast between Sunday’s courtesy and the behavior of the two women behind the counter who took our money.

When I got my food, the woman at the register said at me, “Cash or card?”

“Card,” I replied.

“There’s a question for tip amount on the screen, sir,” she said.

I hit 0% and paid.

As soon as I turned around to scout out a table at which to sit down and eat, Sunday was beside me, “Here’s a table, sir.”

I ate and enjoyed my breakfast. I watched Sunday. Incessantly, he provided each customer napkins and plasticware for their meals. He cleaned all the tables. He threw away empty water bottles as soon as patrons finished drinking. He aligned chairs under the tables. His area was spotless.

He saw me watching him, and came over to my table. “All okay, sir?”

“Yes,” I replied, and handed him some cash. “Thank you,” I said.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

I finished my meal. When I stood up and put on my rucksack, Sunday reappeared. He took my now-empty plate and discarded it for me. And he carried on with his mission.

I don’t know who raised you, Sunday; I know almost nothing of you, really, except that you restored my hope. And I’m grateful you’re around. May your tribe increase.