Martha reached into her apron pocket. She pulled out a plastic-wrapped fork, a napkin, and a single butterscotch candy.
“It is,” Martha smiled. “But I’m the self that hands you the pencil.” cracker barrel front porch self service
“It’s self-service now, Miss Martha,” he’d said, handing her a plastic apron. “Guests scan their own menus, pay at the table. But the porch… the porch still needs a soul.” Martha reached into her apron pocket
“Self-service,” she said, placing them on the woman’s knee. “I’m serving myself the pleasure of helping you.” ” he’d said