The Extra $20

I had to make a payment on the credit card today.  After a very easy job of escorting a patient from the doctor's office to a taxi, I found a Capital One Bank and went in to pay the account.  I've done this hundreds of times.  I go to the ATM, take out the predetermined amount of money, the walk it to the teller and give them the card number.  They apply the payment and give me a receipt.  You've done it.  I've done it.  In and out in five minutes.  Unless it's a Friday afternoon, then you might as well write the rest of the day off.

I entered the location and found the ATM.  I pushed my card in the slot and punched in my PIN number.  The first notice said there were no receipts available, and did I want to continue.  I did.  I requested cash and then typed in $400.00.  The machine whirred and growled and then the door opened.  I saw four crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills and one $20.  The twenty was a little bit crumpled and the corner was torn.  Not detached, but close.  Due to my quick thinking and the reflexes of a cat, I was able to grab $420 from the ATM.

I went over to the teller, but this time was not like the others.  I had twenty dollars more than I thought I would, so I slipped it into my wallet where it fit nicely next to the receipts for yesterday's purchases.  After several minutes, it was my turn.  I went to the window and explained that I wanted to make a payment on this card, of this amount, slipping both the cash and the card under the bullet-proof window.  The teller took the cash and returned the card to me with a receipt.

As far as I was concerned, I was home free.  But the walk to the door was really long.  I knew I would be in the clear, and I was 98% sure that I would not be tracked down.  Now or ever.  I had a thought, though.  I like to talk.  A lot.  I thought about how this story would probably come up soon.  This weekend?  Next month?  I was also sure that if I told a story about getting an extra twenty from an ATM and that I kept it and I deserved to, I would not be condemned by anyone.  Awesome, I was heading toward the door.  Another thought crowded my thoughts.  What if I could tell the story and end it with, "and then I gave the twenty to the teller."  I would be able to buy twenty dollars less in groceries than if I didn't return the money, but if I returned the money, I could make myself look really good without any spin at all.  Please understand, these thoughts plowed through my head in just seconds.

To the left of the doors was a banker with a desk, and he had no customers.  I walked past him slowly.  He asked if I needed help.  I said, "I'm struggling here.  I got some money from the ATM, and I got this ratty twenty in addition to the cash I requested.  I guess I should give it to you?"  The banker took the money and said, "Oh, the man before you was $20 short and you got $20 more?"  I told him that I didn't know what happened before I went to the window, but that I had an extra twenty.  He rephrased his question to imply that someone had come to him earlier with a complaint of not receiving all the money he wanted.  He thanked me for being honest, and I grunted.

The end of this story is and then I gave the twenty to the banker.  I did the right thing.  I don't have to justify stealing from a bank that would never know it was missing because I didn't take the money.  I should feel so good for doing what I did.  The truth is, I don't.  It doesn't feel good to do the right thing all the time.  I will trust, and I daresay believe that the great cosmic ledger has tipped in my favor.

There are some good people out there.  There are people of any religion or no religion who would have returned that money and there would have been no hesitation or question in their mind.  Not so for me.  On the human, fleshly side, an extra twenty would have been helpful.  On the other side, spiritual, eternal, there is a Bible verse that comes to mind that was drilled into my memory when I was young.   I Corinthians 10:31  Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.  My feelings are inconsequential.  Are my actions glorifying God?  I strive for that and fail, often.  As a side note, the end of the chapter says "even as I please all men in all things, not seeking mine own profit, but the profit of many, that they may be saved." (I Cor 10:33)

Another Year, A Different Kind Of Night

Happy New Year!  Two-Thousand Sixteen seems to have been a pretty rough year for a lot of people.  I, for one, had a pretty good year.  My standards may be low, though-I exited 2016 with four limbs and they all work.  I'm good.

This New Year's Eve marks my ninth(!!) in New York City.  Two of those have been in Times Square in some form, two were spent higher than a kite, last year, I was in bed by 11:00 PM and the other three could have been anything.  But this year was unlike any other.  I worked a party in some one's house.  Here's what happened.

Friday afternoon, I was waiting in line for someone at the Carnegie Deli.  That venerable City institution would be serving its last corned beef sandwich late Friday night, and people came out of the woodwork to have a sandwich there before they closed.  That's what brought me to this line.  At one point, I looked at my phone and found I had been hired for a party at 7:00 PM on Saturday night.

Ugh.  My plan had been to go to Father's Heart Ministries for New Year's Eve because I had seen on Face book that they were having a party.  I love serving with that organization, and the time on the Face book event was 10 PM til midnight.  A group of people that I like to be around, and a NYE church service that was not four or five hours?  Count me in!  But I just got hired.  I asked two initial questions:  What do you want me to wear? and Until what time do you think you will need me?  White shirt, black pants, and a bow tie and three or four hours were the answers.  I asked for more specifics on the job, but never heard anything.

Saturday afternoon, I sent the client, Amy, a message saying I was unable to find my bow tie and still, no response.  I arrived a little before 7:00 PM having already accepted the fact that I would not be done working at 11 as she suggested, but that I would probably be there well into the new year.  I rang the doorbell and introductions were made and immediately Amy asked me to begin to make the vegetable tray.  Her husband offered a place to put my jacket and bag, and then said I should begin working on the vegetable platter.  What vegetables?  Where are they?  Why am I being asked to prepare food?  Amy said she would get me a platter and find the vegetables that she wanted on it.  Neither happened with any urgency.

And, the dog - a big golden lab.  As we know by now, I have a severe dog allergy and it says that in my work profile.  I thought about raising that objection, but that would leave this family in the lurch for their first New Year's Eve in New York in ten years.  I was not going to do that.

Amy came to check on me a few minutes later and asked how I was doing.  I said, "I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing!"  I put together some sort of vegetable platter and she said, "You did a great job with this!"  If  I were going to have a dinner party and I were going to plan a menu and I were going to cook, I would not be throwing together a vegetable platter, and hoping it's right.  If I were going to hire someone to help me, that person would not have to guess.

I want to be friendly.  I want to show the client the deference a boss deserves.  I want to do an amazing job.  So, I asked, "What is the plan?  Your husband says I have to cook pigs in a blanket for the kids, but what time do they need to be ready?  When will people be arriving?"  Amy glanced at me and said, "Some people will be here at 8 and others at 9:30 tonight."

I was to create a cheese tray with two kinds of cheese, one type of cracker, and some salami.  But there was bleu cheese, too, and another kind of cheese.  Can't I find it?  No, I can't.  It's not there.  Horseradish for  cocktail sauce?  It must be here somewhere, but it's not.

I was sent to the store for horseradish.  Just the deli downstairs should be fine,but nope!  They didn't have it.  I walked several blocks, checking delis and restaurants until I came to a supermarket that had it.

Can I take the dog for a walk, since there's nothing going on here for a while?  My mind wants to serve.  I want to do what I can to help.  I'm not sure sending the dog out with an unfamiliar person is a good idea.  I'm also not good at hiding my thought process.  I wanted to help and I told Amy so, but the dog was not trying to get in the elevator with me.  Thankfully, a guest came out and offered to walk the dog in my stead.

This woman was so hard to read.  One minute, when she asked if I was making the Chateaubriand and I told her I was not (I've never made one of those in my life), she seemed upset.  But, she said "thank you" occasionally.  I couldn't tell how the evening was going at all.  At all.  Her husband did the bulk of the cooking, and I was happy to assist.  He was able to communicate what needed to be made, and only slightly better at sharing with me what he actually needed me to do.  Somehow, he (we) got dinner prepared and served in some kind of way.

Amy came in the kitchen and asked me to clear the first course.  I was getting ready to wash the pots and pans, and again, I was willing to do whatever she asked, but I was shocked.  I had no idea she wanted me to clear the dishes like a server.  She never asked me to serve or clear dishes from the table with the exception of the first course.  Around 11:15, Amy's husband asked if I would be able to stay past 11.  Of course, I said yes.

I cleaned the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher.  I started it, then hand washed the china.  At midnight, the fireworks exploded overhead.   At 12:15, I explained that all of the dinner dishes were washed or in the dishwasher.  I asked once more for some guidance.  Should I wash all of the glasses sitting around?  What about what's left on the table?  What else should be on the list of things to do?  Things that I would be happy to do, if I know what they are.  Amy looked around and mercifully let me go.

They say that how you spend your New Year's Eve is how your year in general will go.  I didn't feel good about tonight, but how I feel is irrelevant when I'm working.  If my client is happy when I leave, that's all that matters.  The problem is that I could not tell if my client was happy and she didn't say she was when she dismissed me.

What a mixed bag of an evening.  Just before I left, Amy's six-year-old daughter caught me and said, "Happy New Year!"  For one second, I was a part of the festivities and I relished that second.

Here's to a wonderful 2017 for you and yours, and to doing something new and different.  That's how my New Year's Eve went.