The other night my mechanic called. Left a message to call him back.
What? I am at least a month from my next oil change and there were no pending things with my car – as far as I knew. I called him right back. He said that I won the raffle he ran last month for Dinner for Two and that I should come by and pick up my prize.
While running my about-to-leave town errands, I stopped at the shop. He said, “Do you mind if I just write you a check? That way I don’t have to guess about where you like to go and you can do whatever you’d like.”
It occurred to me to suggest that he just put a credit on my account (and I don’t mean that sarcastically), but that didn’t seem in the spirit. Or even polite. I told him I was happy either way.
We were talking as he was writing, so I didn’t look at the check as he handed it to me. I figured it would be 40 or 50 dollars and went to the bank to cash it for travel money. It was $100!
Clearly I do not have gourmet tastes.