If Val is involved in a wrong, she must right it! That's how she was raised. Fair is fair, and no good comes of "getting away with wrong." Even if it's unintentional.
Wednesday afternoon, I was in a bit of a hurry when buying my scratchers. On Wednesdays, Hick and I watch Survivor, which comes on at 7:00. I wanted time to get home and scratch my tickets before the show. There's always something that sidetracks me, and takes up more time than I'd planned. Perhaps a call to The Pony, or supper for Hick, or something that arrives in the mail that needs attention.
I arrived at the Gas Station Chicken store with plenty of time in my "schedule." It was not busy. I parked in my rightful handicap space and went inside. The regular clerk was on her break, and Man Owner was running the register. I was the only customer inside.
Man Owner is slower than the regular clerks. He's the OWNER, you know. Not expected to be quick at ringing people up. Being the owner, he is very thorough. He scanned my winners. Stapled them together. Printed out the draw ticket that I buy every day for The Pony, a $3 Cash4Life with Easy Match. I chose my scratchers. Man Owner rang them up and gave me my $2 change. I held the two bills on top of my scratchers as I walked to the car. No need to take in a purse, or fiddle with folding them and stuffing them in my pocket. I can do that once I get back to T-Hoe.
The sun was blazing in the passenger side of the windshield, right into my eyes. I let my tickets lie on the console while I drove over to 10Box to get more crossword tickets from their two machines. After parking, I wrote the GSCS on the back of those tickets before going in. I always like to know where a winner comes from. It affects what I buy the next day.
Anyhoo... as I was folding those two ones to put in my shirt pocket, they felt thick. I looked. Turned them over. There were two new bills stuck together, and then another one. Man Owner had given me THREE ones, when I was only entitled to TWO.
Well. No way was I going to cheat Man Owner! I've been going there for years. He's a nice guy. Would the loss of a dollar put him in the poorhouse? No. It was the principle! You don't take money that's not yours! Even if somebody gave it to you by accident. The drawer would come up short, and that clerk would get blamed for it.
Right then I knew I was going back to return that dollar. Just as soon as I dashed in 10Box for my crosswords. I figured Man Owner would be off the register by then, but I could explain to the clerk. She could put it in the register, and it would be off my conscience.
Of course we're talking about Val's World. Where The Universe holds sway over her every interaction. When I drove onto the parking lot, there were five cars at the gas pumps. A handicap plater in my rightful handicap space. A car in the FREE AIR parking space, with one behind it waiting for the hose. I decided to drive through, out the back alley, and up to the roundabout a mile away. When I came back, they'd probably be cleared out.
Do you hear The Universe snickering? A white dump truck parked by the moat chose that moment to pull out and head for the back alley. I slammed on T-Hoe's (newly replaced) brakes and avoided being sideswiped. I guess that driver doesn't know why those giant vehicles have side mirrors. He's lucky I had on sunglasses, and my passenger-side visor pulled down, or I may not have seen him in the glare.
Anyhoo... I proceeded to the back alley, and turned toward the roundabout. The Universe was wheeze-laughing like Muttly. It was the end of shift for the can opener factory, and cars were pouring out of their lot. I knew that if I came back from the roundabout, I'd be caught in it for three or four stoplight cycles. So I went through that roundabout, and towards home through the second roundabout, and past Mick the Mechanic's shop, then back into town.
My rightful handicap space was available. Only a couple cars were at the pumps. One truck at the diesel pumps on the side. I clutched that crisp dollar and went inside. OH NO! There were SIX customers waiting. More people than that, but some were together. I hate being in that small store with so many people! But I HAD to give back that dollar, and I'd already hobbled inside. So I stood.
There are only three (narrow) aisles. Two were clogged with waiters. I made note of the guy in a gray sweatshirt and trucker cap who had entered just ahead of me. It would be my turn after his. He eventually squeezed back to the end of one line. I didn't try to follow. Just stood as out of the way as I could, against the wall by the front door.
A couple other guys came up that aisle and got in line behind sweatshirt guy. I know they saw me standing there waiting, because the first one met eyes with me. It was a real sausagefest in there. Me and a bunch of workingmen in their painter pants with assorted stains, talking about drywall and freelancing. A congenial bunch. But still, a bunch.
After sweatshirt guy paid for gas and a scratcher, the guy behind him motioned me ahead. I thanked him, even though we both knew I was next. It never hurts to be polite, or at least perceived as such.
"I'm just here to return this dollar. It was stuck together when Man Owner gave me my $2 change. I don't want the drawer to come up short, or for Man Owner to get in trouble, heh, heh!" [Woman Owner runs a tight ship!]
"Oh, isn't that sweet!" said the clerk, who sure didn't want her drawer coming up short to the displeasure of Woman Owner.
"Aww, that's a really nice thing to do," said Behind Guy.
Not gonna lie. That made it worth the wait. It made me feel important. I couldn't even be disgruntled over the 30 extra minutes that good deed took me.
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