Marc Friedlander, Feb 19, 2011
Part 1-
Last night we
went to the local diner.
We took a booth and sat down.
Waiting for service
I glanced idly about.
My gaze fell by chance to the counter, about 15 feet
away from our booth, and then to the floor, right by the counter
stools.
There, on the floor by the counter, in plain sight, was the
unmistakable color of money - a bill - a greenback!
I could see it was not a
mere single. It had that noble air about it, that the higher denominations
somehow seem to project. I could not tell just how noble, though, at my
distance.
Now that I was aware of it, it
was fully occupying my previously vacant mind.
I assessed the
situation. Looking around, the diner was busy. The bill was just a few
feet from the iconic swinging doors to the kitchen. There was a gaggle of
waitresses/waiters (excuse me, I mean "servers"), all shooting the breeze, just
steps away from the coveted scrap of green and crinkly.
Hmmm.
Should I make a
move?
A young man walked
over and sat on the stool above the bill.
I was trying to formulate an
approach that would not arouse attention, when our waitress came over with the
menus.
(cont'd)
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Part 2-
So there I was -
wife knew nothing about the bill - waitress standing there asking for our drink
order. Trying to appear as bored and casual as I could, I asked for coffee, and
just for good measure, confirmed that they did, in fact, have sweet potato
fries.
Now, before I continue, it's important that I state, I have no
compunction to glom what is not mine, nor to skim the hard earned wages from our
hard working servers.
I thought I might point it out to the waitress, or turn it over to the manager - but
the first thing was to gain possession of it, and THEN decide what to do about
it.
The waitress
walked off, the gaggle continued gaggling right by the bill, and foot traffic streamed through the swinging doors. At
any moment, that bill was going to vaporize - it was now or never. Heart
pounding, I got up, walked over to the bill, bent over, plucked it off the
floor, walked back to the booth, and as I sat down, the bill somehow disappeared
into my pocket.
Not even wife noticed that I had moved.
No cry of, "EXCUSE ME SIR" from the
gaggle . No firm hand
clasping me by my hand, or shoulder, or neck - or any other part of
me.
I realized, at that point, to wave the
bill in the air and inquire, "this belong to anybody?", or to turn it in, expecting it
to wind up in a better, fairer place than where it was (my
pocket)
would be pure lunacy.
(cont'd)
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Part 3-
The bill burning in my pocket, I said to wife, something cool just
happened, but I don't know exactly how cool, and I don't want to tell you what
it is until we leave (thought I'd jinx it, if I started talking about it). She
said that's nice, and continued the conversation we were having about whatever -
the cost of Swifers made in
When we did leave (I left a
nice tip) I related what had happened, taking just as long to tell it as it took
me to write this. I didn't take the bill out and look at it until we got home,
prolonging the anticipation.
(cont'd)
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Part 4-
It was a
twenty.
I don't normally
use emoticons, but in this case I'll make an exception - or multiple
exceptions.
:-) :-) :-)