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 sat with 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.
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