Meeting Moe

“Guess what Mack told me today while I was getting my hair cut?” my little sister Sharon asked as soon as she walked in my door the week before I started working at the Temple. “He works with a really nice, single man at the Temple on Friday nights, and he thinks you should get to know him!”

It seemed that everyone enjoyed playing matchmaker, or at least everyone who worked at the Temple that spring of 1993 while I served as the cashier on Friday evenings.

“Have you met that nice single man who works in the baptistry?” more than one person asked me the first week I was there. “He's got very light blond hair and a mustache, and he's really good looking.”

The problem was there were two light-haired, mustached men who came through the cafeteria line, one tall and one short, and I didn't know which they were talking about. Both men were cute, but were they both single?

I smiled at everyone I rang up, but then I smiled at everyone anyway, so that was easy. It was also easy to be pleasant with everyone, after all, we were in the temple and no one was ever hard to get along with, even when I got flustered and made the wrong change or messed up an order. I enjoyed my job as cashier. When I didn't have customers I wiped down tables, made sure the salt and pepper shakers were full, and cleaned out and refilled the salad cart; but none of that took very long, so I still had plenty of time to visit with people.

There were quite a few people who worked on Friday nights that I knew. One brother was in my ward. He and his wife had been among the first people to welcome us when we moved out to Gilbert, they were very friendly and nice. So one day I asked him if he knew this single guy people were telling me about.

“Everyone keeps telling me there's a nice, single fellow who works in the Baptistry on Friday evenings,” I told Don. “They tell me he has really light blond hair and a mustache. Do you know who he is?”

“They must be talking about Moe,” Don guessed. “He's single, but I would say his hair is white, not blond. He's really quiet until you get to know him, but I've worked with him quite a few times and he's a good guy. He's tall, too. I bet he's at least six-four.”

“Really,” I pondered to myself. “Then it's the tall guy after all.” That made me happy. The shorter man seemed nice, very friendly and funny, too, but I was five-feet ten myself, and I towered over him.

“Tell you what, I'll talk to Moe and tell him you're interested in him,” Don suggested to my horror.

“No, don't do that,” I begged hurriedly. “I just wanted to know who it was everyone was talking about. You don't need to say anything to him, please.”

I thought that was that, until Thursday evening, when Don called me at home.

“Hey, Gale,” he said when I answered the phone. “I talked to Moe tonight, and told him all about you!”

“Oh, no,” I thought, but Don rushed on before I had a chance to say anything.

“I told him you were a wonderful girl: that you were a school teacher and a mom, very pretty, that you walked home from school every day and went jogging on Saturdays, that you were the cashier in the Temple cafeteria on Fridays, and that you only had 11 kids.”

I could have died right then. With Don as my matchmaker, there was no way I'd ever find a husband!

The next night was Friday. I drove to the Temple full of fear and trepidation, wondering what on earth I could possibly say if this Moe came through my line to pay for his dinner? Sure enough, just as the crowds started to thin, I looked up to find this tall, white haired, good looking man with a mustache standing in front of me, holding a tray with a prime-rib dinner, a salad, and a dish of tapioca pudding. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Someone's out to get you,” he laughed as he put his tray down in front of me so I could ring up his dinner.

“I'm so sorry,” I began, fumbling with the cash register keys in my embarrassment. “I really owe you an apology. Don called me last night and told me he talked to you.”

“It's OK,” Moe laughed, “but I've got to ask you why in the world you would ever give somebody like that your telephone number?”

I grinned back. “He's in my ward,” I explained, as I finished ringing up his food.

“Well, that explains it then,” Moe laughed, then handed me the money to pay for his bill.

“Thanks,” I said, putting the money in the cash register. “Have a good dinner.”

“Thank you,” Moe grinned again, and walked off to go sit down and eat his food. And that was the end of that. Darn.