Bits and Pieces by gjwlegs

OK Folks I got this in a Email today and wanted to share...Its kinda like this stream.. Poeple being there when you need them to be showing compassion with there comments.. ENJOY!!!!!!!!!!

A Truckers Story If this doesn't light your fire, your wood is wet!
I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. 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 Downs 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 'truck stop germ' the pairs of
white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop
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 truck stop 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
peppershaker was exactly in its place, not a breadcrumb or coffee spill
was
visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was
persuading 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 dishes and glasses
onto his 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 truck stop. Their
social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they
had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was
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 Downs
Syndrome often have heart problems at an 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, the head waitress, let out
a
war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news.
Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of
this 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 and 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
bills 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
She'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. I then 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 procession. 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 scrawled 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
shouting, 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. Plant a seed and watch it
grow. At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it
fulfilling the need! If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a
compassionate person. Well.. Don't just sit there! Send this story on!
Keep
it going, this is a good one!
AMEN!!!!!!!

MAy you all be well and above all stay safe..

Gloria