A wonderful
story! I am still wiping my eyes!
>
> > > 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!
> > >
