Saturday, December 11, 2010
Some would call it fortuitous.
Or good luck.
Or even, if you will, strange.
There I was, recovering from a rather melodramatic four weeks in my life, sitting at work, daydreaming about the upcoming end of the semester and fielding phone calls from frantic pet owners. Saturdays at the vet clinic tend to be a bit chaotic, unpredictable. There always seems to be something that happens here, ranging from emergent to plain strange.
One of our frequent flier clients comes in to buy some ultra expensive hypoallergenic dog food. This frequent flier client so also happens to be the man who gave me my oh-so-wonderful-deeply-appreciated lap top. (See blog from 06/24/10)
So we're chatting. I ask him how he's been. I always feel indebted to him, and want to maintain a good acquaintanceship with him. He is, after all, someone who is intent on getting me to go to medical school one day, as well as a pretty nice elderly sort of guy.
Chatting away, he tells me about how he's remodeling his house, etc. He asks how the semester has progressed, I tell him that my Biology class was a great success, and he asks "well, when are you going to medical school?" I tell him that first I must finish my science classes before making a well informed decision, etc etc. You know all jovial lighthearted stuff.
I enter his dog food into the system, with a grand total of $59.70
He takes out two $100 bills. Strange, but hey, maybe he needs change. I watch him take one of the $100 bills and begin folding it, tightly, like a rolled cigarette.
Admittedly, the thought runs through my mind "hey! Maybe he'll try and give it to me!" But that seemed, at the time, a bit silly. Seriously. Money doesn't grow on trees nor do retired dentists hand over $100 like it's pocket change.
But then....he hands it to me, tightly folded up like some undercover money exchange. Except that no one is around. It's just me, him, and one of the veterinarian's dogs.
"This is for you", he says.
"Oh, I can't take that", I say. Internally, I wonder what to do. I decide to go with the outright refusal route. Safe and usually effective.
"No" he says. "take it"
"Seriously, I can't accept it."
"You're going to have to. It's yours."
And that is that. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. He's insistent, I'll give you that.
"Merry Christmas" he says, and he is on his way.
So now I've got this $100 bill lying in front of me. Oh the possibilities.
Par for the course.