| date: | Tue, Dec 22, 2015 at 12:37 PM | ||
| subject: | Fwd: FW: Christmas at the Gas Station |
The old man sat behind the counter of his gas station on a cold
Christmas
Eve. Business had been brisk with people gassing up their vehicles to
visit
relatives. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed
away.
It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't
find
a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had
been falling for the last hour, wondering why he was still around, when
the
door opened and a man who looked homeless stepped through.
Instead of throwing the man out, "Old George" as he was known by his
customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up.
"Thank you, that's very kind. I don't want to be a bother," said the
stranger. "It's pretty cold out there.....but maybe I should just go."
"Not without somethin' hot in your belly." George said.
He turned, opening a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger.
"It
ain't much, but it's hot and tasty.
Stew.....made it myself. When you're done, there's coffee, and it's
fresh."
Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse
me, be
right back," George said.
There in the driveway was an old '53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the
front. The driver was panicked.
"Meester, help!" said the driver. In halting English with a thick
Spanish
accent, he continued. "Mi esposa....she have the baby. Mi car, she
broken."
George peered under the hood. There was so much steam that he couldn't
see
much of anything. His guess, though, was that the block had cracked
from
the cold. The car was as dead as a doornail.
"You ain't going nowhere in this thing," George said as he turned away.
"Por favor, meester -- Ayudame! You can help me?" Tears stood in his
frantic eyes.
The door of the office closed behind George as he stepped inside. He
went to
the office wall, got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside.
He
walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and
drove
it around to where the couple was waiting.
"Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing to look at,
but
she runs real good. You can bring her back after the baby comes. I'll
see
what I can do about your car."
George helped put the woman in the truck, and watched as it sped off
into
the night.
He turned and walked back inside the gas station. "Glad I gave 'em the
truck; their tires were shot, too. Not safe." George thought he was
talking to the stranger, but the man had left. The Thermos was on the
desk,
empty, with a used coffee cup beside it.
"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.
George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked
slowly, but finally caught. He pulled it into the garage where the
truck
had been, thinking he'd tinker with it later on. When business dropped
off
around dinnertime, he discovered that the block hadn't cracked, it was
just
the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said
to
himself. So he put a new one on.
"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter, though." The snow
treads on his wife's old Lincoln were the same size. They were like
new, and
he wasn't going to drive that car anyway. So, he put them on the
couple's
Chevy.
As he was working, he heard what sounded like gunshots.
He ran outside. Across the street next to a squad car, he found a
middle-aged policeman lying on the ground.
Blood was coming from his right shoulder. The officer was moaning,
"Please.....help....." His shoulder radio wasn't functioning.
Following the cop's instructions, George tried to raise someone via the
police car's communication system, only to find that a bullet had left
it useless.
George remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic.
He
knew the wound needed pressure to stop the bleeding. The uniform
company had been there that morning and had left a bag of clean shop
towels. He wadded up a bunch of them and used duct tape to bind the
wound.
"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the
policeman feel at ease.
Running back to the garage, he tried to call 911, only to find that his
phone had no dial tone. Now what? Blankets and something for pain,
George thought. All he had was the Arthritis-Strength Tylenol he used
for his back. He went back to find the officer sitting up.
"These oughta help with the hurtin'." He wrapped up the policeman and
handed him the pills along with a bottle of water.
"You hang in there, I'm gonna try to find somethin' to get you off this
cold street." A few minutes later, he returned with a large 4-way
dolly, and managed to haul the policeman over to the warmth of his shop.
"Thanks," said the officer. "You probably should have just left me
there. The guy that shot me is still in the area."
George sat down beside him, "I would never leave an injured man in the
Army,
and I sure wasn't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to
check
for bleeding. "Looked worse than what it was, I think. Bullet passed
right
through ya. Seems to have missed the important stuff , though. I think
with
time yer gonna be right as rain."
George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How ya take it?" he asked.
"None for me," said the officer.
"Oh, ya gotta try this! Best coffee in the city. Too bad I ain't got no
donuts to go with it." The officer laughed and winced at the same time.
George was about to head off to try to find a working phone when the
front
door of the shop flew open. In burst a young man with a gun.
"Give me all your cash! Do it....now!" the young man yelled. His hand
was
shaking, and George could tell that he wasn't a regular at this sort of
thing.
"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George, "You need to put that
cannon
away. Somebody else might get hurt."
The young man acted confused. "Shut up, old man, or I'll shoot you,
too. Now
give me your cash!"
The cop was reaching for his service revolver. "Put that dang thing
away,"
George said to the cop, "we got one too many in here already."
He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If
you
need money that bad, well then....here. It ain't much, only $150 bucks,
but
it's all I got. Just put that pea shooter away."
George pulled the pile of bills out of the cash register, and handed it
to
the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The
young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to
cry.
"I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to get something for
my
wife and son," he went on. "I lost my job, and our rent is due. The
landlord said he was going to evict us if we didn't come up with at
least
part of the money we owe him. My car got repossessed last week. I've
already sold every last thing I own that's worth a plug nickel...."
George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze
now
and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best
we
can."
He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across
from
the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George handed the boy a cup of
coffee. "Bein' stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin'
in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm, and
we'll sort this thing
out."
The young man had stopped crying. He looked over at the cop. "Sorry I
shot
you," he said sheepishly. "I was so scared when you came up behind me
that
it just kinda went off. I'm sorry, officer....really."
"Shut up and drink your coffee " the cop said.
George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an
ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops threw open the door, guns drawn.
"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How'd you find me?"
"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Somebody called
911, reporting shots fired over this way. When you didn't answer the
dispatcher, she put 2 and 2 together. Who did this?" the other cop
asked, looking suspiciously at the young man.
Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just
dropped his weapon and ran." He handed over the now wiped-clean pistol
to
his fellow patrolman. George and the young man exchanged puzzled looks.
"This guy work here?" the wounded cop asked, eyeing his shooter.
"Yep," George said after only a brief hesitation. "Just hired him
today.
Boy lost his job last week."
The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young
man
leaned over the wounded cop before he was wheeled away, and whispered,
"Why?"
Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas, kid..... You, too, George! And
thanks
for everything."
"Well, looks like you got one doozie of a break there. That oughta
solve some of your problems anyhow."
While the young man satwith his head in his hands, George went into the
back
room, and came out with a small box, which he handed to the boy. "Here
ya
go, son.....something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would
mind.
She said it would come in handy some day."
The young man looked inside to see a good-sized diamond pendant. "I
can't
take this," said the young man. "It's gotta mean something to you."
"You're right....and now it'll mean somethin' to you," replied George.
"I got my memories of Martha. That's all I need."
From under the counter, George pulled out another box holding a car and
a
tanker truck. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to
sell.
"Here's a present for that son of yours."
The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the
old man had handed him earlier.
"And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with -- or pay that
rent?
You keep that, too," George said. "Now git on home to your family
before you
git yerself into more hot water!"
The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here
in the morning for work, if you really meant that job offer."
"Sorry. That won't work. I'm closed on Christmas Day," George said.
"See ya the day after."
George watched the boy head off down the street. He turned to lock up
the
garage, thinking, "Whew, what a day! Nobody would believe it." When he
entered the shop, he was surprised to see that the homeless man had
returned.
"Hey! Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"
"Oh, I've been here all along. In fact, I've always been here," said
the stranger, to the old man's confusion. "You say you don't celebrate
Christmas. Why is that?"
"Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what the big
to-do was
all about. Trimmin' a tree seemed like a waste of a good pine tree.
Bakin'
cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself, and
besides I was gettin' a little chubby."
The stranger put his hand on the garage owner's shoulder. "But you DO
celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me
when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son, and
he will become a great doctor.
The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed
by
terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man
and
not take any of the fortune for himself. That is the spirit of the
season,
and you keep it as well as any man could."
George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you
know all this?" asked the old man.
"Trust me, my friend, I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And
when your days are done, have no fear. You will be with Martha
again." The
stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George......I
have
to go home now. There's a big celebration planned."
George watched as the old denim jacket and the torn jeans that the
stranger
was wearing faded into a white robe. The room was suddenly bathed in a
golden light.
"You see, George...... it's my birthday. Merry Christmas!"
George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday, Lord!"
Isn't this story better than any greeting card?
Now clear the lump from your throat, blow your nose, and send this
along to
a friend of yours or someone who may need a reminder as to WHY we
celebrate
Christmas.
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND GOD BLESS!
Posts
10 comments:
After work, George walked over to the diner.
Counterman: Hiya George, how was your day?
George: Just the same old shit, as usual.
What the hell did I just read? Why is it oh so vaguely checking all the conservative cliché boxes?
Talk about fiction and sheer barking bullshit!
Like RWD would behave this way? Yogoddabekiddingme.
After work George goes to the local diner.
Stan the Counterman: Happy Holidays, George!
George takes out the gun that he palmed off the young kid who shot the cop and proceeds to blast Stan in the face.
Stranger from Gas Station appears again: Good job rubbing out Stan for his lousy War on Christmas talk! Now you are really exhibiting the true spirit of Christmas. Way to go, George! Keep up the good work. Your beloved wife would be so proud of you.
@Thx 4 Fish: I'd love to meet your parents, as they seem to have a lot more common sense than you do.
@Agent86 (aka - Max): Dang Max, I'm actually very surprised that Manatee Thighs Shrillary has yet to make a "move" on Bernie "Get Off My Lawn" Jew Boy Sanders.
She's the only one in the Clinton Clan of Rednecks, that has not
had "sex" (depends on what "it" is) with a Jew.
I mean, that Bernie is one good-looking crusty old cranky and cantankerous Jew Boy...problem is, he doesn't have enough MONEY
for Shrillary to be remotely interested in him....ha ha ha
Again, the Clintons are a FUCKED UP family.
Mike Hawk
P.S. - Bernie/Maduro 2016
Why didn't the gas station owner tell the stranger that we all know that Christmas is a hijacked pagan holiday, that there's no evidence that Christ ever lived, and that even if He really did exist, there's no freaking way he was born on December 25?
@Mike Hawk
Again, the Clintons are a FUCKED UP family.
What's with the Clinton fixation? You might want to see a professional about that; it's clearly unhealthy.
If you think the Clintons are messed up, you should read about the Bush family sometime. I'd start by reading about Prescott Bush, who got rich doing business with the Nazis.
Then you can read about George W., and his time going AWOL from the Texas Air National Guard, and his coke problems. Or Neil, who was largely responsible for the national savings and loan crash in the early 1980s. Or H.W. Bush and his mistresses.
It's all pretty fascinating stuff, and it's far more interesting than either Benghazi or the fact that Hillary used a similar email system to her two Republican predecessors.
@CharlieE
Isn't it obvious? The echo chamber is rattling on like a broken record about the Clintons, so that is what Mike is obsessing about 24/7. Regardless of the subject at hand. I'm sure they'll switch up their outrage to some other trivial matter or self-victimization and he'll be regurgitating that in no time.
After work, George walked over to the local diner.
Counterman: Hi George, what's new?
George: I think the hallucinations are getting worse.
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