'Tis the season when we're reminded that it is better to give than to receive, that good can come out of bad, and that a small, kind gesture can transform the moment for another human being. I proved all of that to myself last weekend.
It was almost 9 p.m. on the Friday before Christmas. In the Dollar Tree, bright fluorescent lights bleached the color out of the ravaged assortment of Christmas wrapping. I had stopped in for more red and green tissue paper. I would leave with something less tangible and far more precious.
Carol MegathlinAs I searched the aisles, the clerk at the cash register kept up a cheerful chatter with her customers. She was a young woman, pale, sandy-haired. I am ashamed to admit that I shuddered to think of working late hours at Dollar Tree just days before Christmas.
Let me stop here and tell you that about 25 years ago, I stopped by the ATM at my bank on a Saturday. I punched in a request for a certain amount of cash, which I keep stashed in my wallet for emergencies. When I counted the bills there was a discrepancy - in the bank's favor - between the amount I had asked for and the total I was given. But the bank was closed and I was in a hurry. In the ensuing days, I forgot about the error.
Back at the Dollar Tree, I got in line with my tissue paper. As the lady ahead of me was completing her purchase, the cashier handed her some bills and a few coins.
"You've got a real silver quarter there," the cashier told the lady. "Hold on to it. It's worth something."
As the cashier turned to me, she said, "I can always tell the silver coins, there's a different jingle."
She scanned my items, talking all the while. "What I really like is when a $2 bill comes through. I always buy those. I love them."
"What makes you like them so much?" I asked.
Once in a great while one of the bills passes through my hands, but I don't keep it. Some quick research reveals that the U.S. Bureau of Engraving still makes the $2 bill but only sporadically.
"Oh, they're beautiful," the cashier enthused." They have a picture of the signing of the Declaration of Independence on the back."
My purchase totaled $5.48. I handed her a five and began probing the recesses of my billfold for a one.
Not finding a $1 bill, I handed her another five. While she pulled the change out of the register, I recalled the error the ATM machine had made decades ago. In the way of "bad" things it wasn't up there with finding switches in your stocking on Christmas morning. But robbery is robbery, even if the bandit is an ATM machine.
As the cashier handed me my change, she happily wished me a Merry Christmas. I stashed the bills, then held out a bit of twice-folded, pressed thin currency to her.
"And a Merry Christmas to you," I said.
Her brows contracted over her blue eyes as she held up her palm against my offering. Then, focusing on the denomination of the bill, she began a happy dance.
You see, 25 years ago I had asked the ATM for $100 in 20s, but it had spit out four 20s and one $2 note. For some reason I had held onto the odd bill.
She took the bill, ran around the counter and enveloped me in a mighty hug. As she released me, her co-worker looked at her curiously.
"She gave me a two-dollar bill!" she sang out.
Heading to the exit, I turned and asked her name.
"Melissa Jo," she replied.
As I drove home, I couldn't get the smile off my face. Nothing Santa might bring me could evoke the feeling I had at that moment.
Giving truly is more fun than receiving. I think that's called the spirit of Christmas.
Carol Megathlin is a writer living in Fairhope, Alabama, and Athens, Georgia.