Let me rewind a bit to explain.
Once a week for the last little while, we've been ordering fast food online as a bit of a break from the monotony which is Covid. Last night it was pizza, make that two pizzas, as Terry needs the gluten free kind.
"Will that be cash or credit card?" asked the bubbly order taker over the phone.
"Let's make that credit," I replied. "And can you add the tip for the driver onto that please?"
"How much for the tip sir?"
I quickly did the math.
"Make it $6," I said, knowing my Xena would probably have given a bit more.
"No problem sir. Just tap your card when the driver comes. Sam will be about 40 minutes."
Making the best use of our time, Terry and I gave each other haircuts as we waited. Desperate times call for desperate cuts!
Soon enough, the doorbell rang and a beaming Sam presented the pizzas. I tapped the credit terminal as I exchanged a few pleasantries with the forty something driver.
Only moments later did I realize there had been a mistake. The driver had added an additional $6 tip to the bill.
I chided myself for not taking a closer look at the amount before I tapped. But, as I related the incident to Terry, I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that I had been the unsuspecting victim of some nefarious scheme.
And that brings us back to the front door.
"I want to speak to the man," came the voice for a second time, a trace of panic in his East Indian accent.
Terry looked at me sitting in the living room, just finishing up an online bridge game with friends.
"I'm not opening that door," she declared. Then, as though she'd rehearsed it many times before (my Xena is part girl scout, part wonder woman), she dashed to open the front window.
'Can I help you?" she called out pleasantly into the darkness. Terry is so kind she's the one who apologizes when we get a wrong number.
"It's the pizza man. I've made a terrible mistake."
We opened the front door to the distraught driver. Bowing, he began to explain his error as he held out the $6.
"No, no, don't worry about it," I said, trying to calm him down. "I know exactly what happened. It's an easy mistake to make."
Again, still very agitated, he re-offered the money with a bow.
"Look, it's not your fault. Keep the money," I reaffirmed.
"And thank you for your honesty and for your service during these very difficult times," Terry added.
A look of relief washed over the man's face.
His faith in doing the right thing rewarded.
My faith in humanity reaffirmed.
I so love a happy ending.
And that brings us back to the front door.
"I want to speak to the man," came the voice for a second time, a trace of panic in his East Indian accent.
Terry looked at me sitting in the living room, just finishing up an online bridge game with friends.
"I'm not opening that door," she declared. Then, as though she'd rehearsed it many times before (my Xena is part girl scout, part wonder woman), she dashed to open the front window.
'Can I help you?" she called out pleasantly into the darkness. Terry is so kind she's the one who apologizes when we get a wrong number.
"It's the pizza man. I've made a terrible mistake."
We opened the front door to the distraught driver. Bowing, he began to explain his error as he held out the $6.
"No, no, don't worry about it," I said, trying to calm him down. "I know exactly what happened. It's an easy mistake to make."
Again, still very agitated, he re-offered the money with a bow.
"Look, it's not your fault. Keep the money," I reaffirmed.
"And thank you for your honesty and for your service during these very difficult times," Terry added.
A look of relief washed over the man's face.
His faith in doing the right thing rewarded.
My faith in humanity reaffirmed.
I so love a happy ending.
And the fact we're having left over pizza for dinner tonight.
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