“May I Serve You Now?”
Thanks to the generosity of my father-in-law, we’ve been living in luxury these past two weeks in one of Marylebone’s finest old family-owned hotels. Every morning, our beds are made, our tea is poured and our food is cooked for us by the smiling, courteous, and well-dressed staff. We have had no shopping to do, no dishes to wash, no table to set; everything is there for us, ready when we come down to breakfast in the morning or return to our rooms in the evening after a day of sightseeing or (in my case) work. You would think that this is a life we could all too easily get used to, being waited upon. And yet, after the first day or two, once we had recovered from jet lag and could conceivably take care of ourselves again, it started to wear a bit, at least on me. Was it humility that was making me uneasy—the thought that I did not deserve to be waited upon in this way—or was it pride? I wonder. We like to think that we would prefer to be waited upon, hand and foot, as it were,...