General Fiction posted November 2, 2021 |
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Unexpected Windfall
by Elizabeth Emerald
For the past 35 years, my friend Scott has hosted a Thanksgiving dinner for those who have nowhere else to go. Scott tells me many of the guests take it for granted; though they might thank him upon departing, to date he's received 35 thank-you notes, all from the same man, Jim Muller.
Scott said it's ironic that Jim, of all people, is gracious enough to drop a note. Jim's behavior at the meal is egregious. He "helps" clean up by yanking off the table cloths whilst guests are attempting to enjoy dessert.
Scott also assists in serving at the Christmas dinner hosted by a local synagogue. One year, Jim had the gall--after tapping his foot for ten minutes as he eyeballed the second hand of his watch--to stomp into the kitchen on the dot of one o'clock. Banging a serving spoon on the steel countertop, Jim demanded that the Rabbi give the blessing, so that they could eat, G#dd@m it!
Scott told me that five years back, a few weeks before Thanksgiving, a man, whom he had never met, walked into Scott's shop and handed him a check for $3,000.
Scott was floored.
The man introduced himself. "I'm Jack Muller, Jim's brother. Put this toward your Thanksgiving dinner, or spend as you wish. For 30 years, you've taken Jim off our hands for the holiday: none of us can stand the b@$t@rd. Here's a hundred bucks a pop in back pay."
Scott said it's ironic that Jim, of all people, is gracious enough to drop a note. Jim's behavior at the meal is egregious. He "helps" clean up by yanking off the table cloths whilst guests are attempting to enjoy dessert.
Scott also assists in serving at the Christmas dinner hosted by a local synagogue. One year, Jim had the gall--after tapping his foot for ten minutes as he eyeballed the second hand of his watch--to stomp into the kitchen on the dot of one o'clock. Banging a serving spoon on the steel countertop, Jim demanded that the Rabbi give the blessing, so that they could eat, G#dd@m it!
Scott told me that five years back, a few weeks before Thanksgiving, a man, whom he had never met, walked into Scott's shop and handed him a check for $3,000.
Scott was floored.
The man introduced himself. "I'm Jack Muller, Jim's brother. Put this toward your Thanksgiving dinner, or spend as you wish. For 30 years, you've taken Jim off our hands for the holiday: none of us can stand the b@$t@rd. Here's a hundred bucks a pop in back pay."
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