Through a Glass Darkly

"Beware so long as you live, of judging men by their outward appearance."
-Jean de La Fontaine

It began with a dirty glass. Upturned and encrusted with the pale remains of a milky drink, it greeted us last afternoon when we were led to a corner table.
Spouse and I had chosen to visit an Indian restaurant for lunch, after which he planned to leave me at Barnes and Noble for a few hours. We cannot afford the books there- a copy of Tolstoy's 'War and Peace' bore the baffling price tag of 40 dollars- but I enjoy browsing, collecting titles and often sitting and writing my own thoughts for a time.
We noted the dirty glass with uneasy horror and wondered what sort of place we had stepped into. Spouse was on a break from work and there was absolutely no time left to seek out another restaurant.
We had no choice but to point at the glass as the waiter set napkins before us. He silently collected the offending item, with, I thought I sensed, a tinge of melancholy, and glided away to let us enjoy the buffet. We decided to dismiss the glass from our minds and concentrate on the food.
The food was satisfying; I cannot say that it was particularly special but the meal was pleasant enough. We entered the restaurant shortly before noon, and expected the place to fill up rapidly. Two customers in before us ate and talked loudly at a corner table; otherwise Spouse and I were alone. Our waiter dashed in and out of the kitchen from time to time and filled up the pots with more appetising concoctions.
He refilled our water glasses. I said "thank you" and he responded with "you're welcome," which, sad to say, is uncommon in our area.
At some point in the time we sat there we began to notice things.
No other customers had come by and were not likely to do so, given the late hour.
The waiter appeared to be the only member of staff; perhaps as well as leading us to our table he was also the chef. He took our credit card with the briefest smiles when our meal was finished; he was the cashier, too.
That was all very telling. With no customers at all he probably could not pay for any staff and was forced to do the work of several people, including, I presume, dishwasher.
Suddenly a dirty glass became more than an ugly object; the fellow's sadness was not our imagination. He was attempting to do what he could with all that he had yet his inherent good manners remained a pivotal part of his day.
It is heartbreaking to think that his business might be collapsing, that he would have to dispose of the food he cooked with his own hands, that an otherwise perfectly fine place should be the first to disintegrate during an economic downturn.
We both felt badly for him and his livelihood, and were glad that we had not walked out after judging a restaurant by a single unwashed glass.