I stopped by Scrooge’s company late on Christmas Eve to pick up some documents. I arrived just as Scrooge was handing out gifts to his employees, large warehouse-store tins of cookies. He hadn’t sounded grateful when I’d called to tell him I’d do his project. I don’t think it had occurred to him I might say no.
As I made my way out, Bob thrust his tin of cookies at me. “Here,” he said, “You should take these.”
My heart overflowed with gratitude toward Bob for recognizing my contribution.
“Why…why, thank you, Bob,” I stuttered.
“Oh,” he said a little sheepishly, stepping back. “I can’t take those home. My son, Tim, is gluten intolerant. If I walk in the house with those cookies I won’t be able to keep him out of them. He’ll be miserable for days.”
Somewhat put out, I walked to the car. Bob didn’t appreciate my effort. He probably didn’t even know about it.
But on the other hand, I wasn’t gluten intolerant. And while I had to work over the holidays, I had a giant tin of cookies to keep me company.
“God bless us, everyone,” I said as I put the car in drive.
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