A Wonderful Story!! (have to read)

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A Wonderful Story

I tried not to be biased in hiring a handicapped person, but his placement

counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy.

But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted

one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a

little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs

Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because

truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf

platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the

ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie

snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of some

dreaded " truckstop germ; " the pairs of white shirted business men on expense

accounts who think every truckstop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew

those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for

the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped

around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had

adopted him as their official truckstop mascot. After that, I really didn't

care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old

in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his

attention to his duties. Every salt and

pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was

visible when Stevie got done with the table.

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the

customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his

weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was

empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus the dishes

and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced

flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would

pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly

right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person

he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled

after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security

benefits in public housing two miles from the truckstop. Their social worker,

who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between

the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was the probably the

difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a

group home.

That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the

first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo

Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His

social worker said that people with Down syndrome often had heart problems at

an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would

come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months. A

ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came

that he was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine. Frannie, my head

waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she

heard the good news.

Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of the

50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table.

Frannie blushed, then smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering

look. He grinned. " OK, Frannie, what was that all about? " he asked. " We

just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay. " " I was

wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery

about? " Frannie quickly told Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting

at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed. " Yeah, I'm glad he is going

to be OK, " she said, " but I don't know how he and his mom are going to handle

all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is. "

Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest

of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie

and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables

that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked

into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on

her face. " What's up? " I asked. " I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer

and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and

Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off, " she said,

" This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup. " She handed the napkin to me,

and three $20 fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big,

bold letters, was printed " Something For Stevie. " " Pony Pete asked me what

that was all about, " she said, " so I told him about Stevie and his mom and

everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended

up giving me this. " She handed me another paper napkin that had " Something

For Stevie " scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its

folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said

simply " truckers. "

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is

supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he's been counting the

days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it

was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he

was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work, met them in the parking lot

and invited them both to celebrate his day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through

the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were

waiting. " Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast, " I said. I took him and his

mother by their arms. " Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming

back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me. " I led them toward a large

corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the

staff following behind as we marched

through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth

of grinning truckers empty and join the procession.

We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee

cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of

folded paper napkins. " First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this

mess, " I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his

mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had " Something for Stevie "

printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the

table. Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from

beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned

to his mother. " There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table,

all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems.

Happy Thanksgiving. "

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and

shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what's funny?

While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie,

with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes

from the table. Best worker I ever hired.

Author Unknown

Plant a seed and watch it grow. At this point, you can bury this

inspirational message or forward it fulfilling the need!

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