> > > > 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 Down 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 catching 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 convincing 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, which
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 a 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 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, > > > 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 possession. > > > > > > 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 s> crawled 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 sh> outing, 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 fullfilling the need! > >
>
