Unexpected Money

I got unexpected money in the mail. 

Isn’t it funny that when we read something like that, it can take a second to take it in, because we’re more used to hearing people say “I got this BILL in the mail that I didn’t know about and now, what I’m I going to do?”

This was opposite that.  I got unexpected money in the mail and thought, wheeeeeee, what am I going to do with that? 

My buddy’s business had evidently had a great year and his scrawled note said something like, “Hey, Lori, I know how hard you’ve been working and that you don’t have much extra and  I just wanted to share the wealth a little. So here you go - treat yourself!” 

This wasn’t a huge amount of money by anyone’s standard, but still, I was thrilled and hopped into my car to rush off to the place that everyone in my income bracket considered the shopping mecca heaven extravaganza of the universe - Ross - Dress for Less!  (Here’s a shout out to the  teachers and social workers who fall into that income bracket, and do their jobs for the sheer love of making a difference - while wearing the clothes they got at Ross - Dress for Less.)

I loaded up my cart with things like:  that oh so cute shirt, these comfy looking denim jeans, the Christmas themed Winnie the Pooh coffee cup …. You all get it.  And then I headed to the dressing room - where this story really gets started. 

I was trying on those comfy looking pants but man, they were really snug, and the next pair wouldn’t even zip up and what happened with the third pair was just embarrassing.  And I was momentarily confused checking and rechecking the sizes and being perplexed about how the entire clothing industry had incorrectly crafted all of the size 8 jeans.  Then the reality of the situation set it … wait a minute … 100% of these size 8 jeans don’t fit… and the common denominator was the tryer-on-er. Was it possible that the jeans actually WERE size 8 - but the tryer-on-er no longer was?? Had my refrigerator somehow shrunk these clothes???

As I wrestled with these questions - and with the size 8 jeans - I overheard two young tryer-on-ers in the next stall.  The tone of their giggles had me place them at 6th or 7th grade - and they were chatting wildly as all 6th or 7th grade girls do - as they did their trying-on-ing.  Then there was the epic sound of silence as though the entire universe was holding its breath and one of them said reverently, “ Oooooooh, that’s so beautiful.  You look so beautiful! Hurry - let’s go out and look in the big mirror!” And they did. I heard the squeak of the stall door, the scuffle of footsteps and then a new voice saying with such innocence, “It’s so pretty. I feel so pretty.”  

Then another silence - but a heavy one this time. And she asked her friend? “How much is it? Can you see the tag?”

And the friend said, “It’s this much dollars? How many dollars do you have?”

And the pretty dress girl said, “I have this much dollars?”

Another moment of silence as we all did the math in our heads and all of our hearts broke simultaneously because she didn’t have enough dollars.  And we were all holding our breath. We were redoing the math in our heads. Maybe we were wrong.  Maybe this would all be okay. 

But it wouldn’t be. 

The math was right. 

And there wasn’t a huge difference.  But there was a difference. She didn’t have enough dollars.

Was it weird that I almost cried?

Then the pretty dress girl said softly, “It’s okay, I can get that other one. It will be fine.”  

But by this time I had wrangled myself out of the non-fitting jeans and concocted a plan.  

Now fully clothed in size larger than 8 clothes, I opened my door and walked out to them.  There she stood in her pretty dress with her encouraging sidekick next to her.  The dress was perfect.  And when you are in 6th or 7th grade and never quite feel like anything about you is okay, the fact that you feel pretty ever is pretty much a miracle. .  

So, I said something like this,  ‘I know this is weird, but I overheard you and I’d like to be able to give you the extra money to buy that dress. I know I’m a stranger and this is weird, but I’ve been in your situation before and if it feels okay to you, I’d like to do that.  I’m going to go to the front of the store now so that if you choose to talk with me there are other adults around,  and you can call your mom or do whatever you need to, to decide, but I’ll be up there if you want to bring the dress up and we can put it on my credit card.”  

The girls looked at each other in astonishment. Because, yeah, that was weird. 

So I left them, and a few minutes later they sheepishly met me by the cash register and they said they thought this would be okay.  I asked pretty dress girl if she’d also like to get some shoes to go with it.  “No, that’s okay,” she said, her flip flops would be okay.  And as we waited in line, the story of the buying of the dress flowed like this: she explained that she had won a poetry contest and that later that week they were having a ceremony at school and that her abuela was coming all the way from Mexico and the whole family would be there and that maybe they would give her some type of certificate saying that said she had won and she could put that on the wall at home and maybe someday she’d be a writer and and and and…

We checked out. I swiped my card, and then she reached into her pocket and grabbed a handful of bills and some change to give to me.  I told her she could keep it. 

“What?” She asked, confused.  

“Yeah, you can keep that.”

“But then you’ll be paying for all of it.”

“Yep, and that’s okay. This money was a gift to me and now it’s a gift to you.”

“But what will I do with THIS money?” She asked, holding up her money filled hand.

“Whatever you’d like,” I offered. 

She stood a bit frozen, not yet quite understanding. 

“I think there’s a place across the parking lot where you could buy some snacks or something.  And congratulations, by the way, please feel very proud of yourself.” 

And off they walked and I resumed my shopping, but this time in the size 10 portion of the store.  

As I climbed back into my car, I saw those two girls walking across the parking lot, giggling and smiling carrying milkshake cups and one of them was swinging a Ross - Dress for Less bag that I knew was full of a very pretty dress. 

And I sat in my car and cried a little. 

Then I called my buddy and told him what his generosity to me had done for someone else.    And he’s a softee so I bet he cried a little.  But he’ll never admit it.  Some guys are weird that way.

And now, for the moral of this story.  

Well the obvious moral is “pay it forward” - but that’s overused.  We can do better than that, folks. 

I think the moral is simply this:  love

Yeah, you didn’t think we’d end up there, huh?  But let’s face it.  We gotta be good to each other and that’s love.  The gift was given to me with love. The gift was passed on to her with love.  So, yeah.  Love. That’s it.  Love.

Love, and Ross - Dress for Less.

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