It’s a Wednesday morning in June and, thanks to my sweet husband, I awaken to a steaming cup of coffee on my bedside. Arranging the pillows just so behind my back, I hug the mug with both hands. It’s my favorite way to begin any day, propped up with eyes closed, slowly sipping my way to wakefulness. NPR is on in the background forecasting blustery winds, uncommon for hot humid Houston this time of year.
It’s my habit to visualize the day before opening my eyes. This day I plan to do everything in my power to be value-added at my new job, to be a team player. Positive energy, active listening, integrity, creative problem-solving – these are my goals. “Be the best Mary you can be,” I tell myself. June means summer vacation for students, and dress-down days for administrators. Mentally I go through my closet, choosing leggings, Birkenstocks and a loose gypsy-style tunic. Ready for the day, I open my eyes and go forth, oblivious to the trouble ahead.
The drive to work is smooth. Turning my head left and right, I smile, admiring the manicured lawns and beautiful landscaping on my new commute. Gingerly I pull into my designated parking spot and walk across the brutally hot parking lot, grateful for the refreshment of a breeze blowing up my tunic.
After a synergetic morning planning back-to-school activities, stomachs are rumbling. I jump at the chance of volunteering to take orders, to pick up carry-out at the nearby Stonemill Bakery, which has the most amazing turkey, avocado, sprout and sunflower seed sandwiches on homemade nutty bread. With an agreement to go Dutch, I gather $20 from each person, and saunter out to my car, thinking I’m the happiest woman in Houston with not only a new job and a new fun team to work with, but also a terrific bakery three blocks away.
Seatbelt buckled, sunroof open, I lay the money on the passenger seat and crank up the air conditioning. “Oooh, the sun has been baking my car,” I think to myself as I press down the automatic windows for fresh air until the AC kicks in. I crank up the tunes and back out of my parking spot, waiting for the automatic gate to open.
It’s just then that the blustery wind promised by the weatherman arrived, whooshing right through my sweltering car, giving flight to the four $20 bills. They went quickly, as if eager to escape. Up they flew out the sunroof, just out of reach of my slow-reacting hands. It was like a bad dream, happening in slow motion, me frantically grasping at thin air in a futile attempt to claim back the money of my new colleagues.
It all happened so fast, like a light switch, my mood going from dizzily content to frantic. All I see is traffic zooming east to west and west to east, with the breeze blowing leaves into windshields.
Fully aware it’s hopeless, I park the car and begin walking down the street, scouring the neatly trimmed ivy and jasmine planted between the street and sidewalk. The wind is wicked, my tunic wraps around my legs and I quickly realize this is energy wasted.
Back in my car, I’m kicking myself. I’m the dumbest person on the planet, sending $20 bills through the air. This was hardly the best Mary I could be. Lecture over, it hits me … maybe this happened for a reason? Just maybe that money was meant to make someone else’s day. Some needy stranger walking down the street suddenly finds not just one, but several $20 bills. Imagine the glee! This makes me feel a little better, knowing my misery will be the cause of someone else’s ecstasy.
The story of money flying out of the sunroof provided our lunch entertainment. “Really?” they said in unison, totally amused and certainly questioning my common sense. This episode cost much more than expected and certainly seasoned their early impressions of me.
It would seem the story would end here, but it doesn’t.
Weeks later, I took my car to Mister Car Wash for a thorough cleaning inside and out. Lo and behold., the attendant vacuuming my car returned my keys in one hand and a $20 bill in the other. “Found this in your car, ma’am.”
I smile. “It’s your tip,” I tell him. And now I know I’m being the best Mary I can be.