A Sort of Immortality
Once, long ago, in a faraway land, I was a hostess at a sports bar. It was Christmas of 1992 and I had just turned 18. This one guy, a regular I knew by sight bet had never really spoken to beyond "Sitting at the bar today, or would you like a table?" gave me a 2 pound box of Godiva Chocolates (back when Godiva was still supreme) and wished me a Merry Christmas.
I always wondered why he did it. We weren't friends, and I certainly wasn't the prettiest of the girls working there. He never singled me our before or after.
I think I finally figured it out. It's been seventeen years and I still remember him (though I never knew his name); whatever else he does in his life he'll always be remembered by me as That Guy. Some people leave a legacy of pennicilin, or fine art, or of a better vacuum cleaner... this guy may not have done that, but he left a legacy of one lonely girl who had a VERY Merry Christmas at a time when she really needed it.
Thank you, anonymous dude in the Lake Forest mall in Gaithersburg. You live forever.
I always wondered why he did it. We weren't friends, and I certainly wasn't the prettiest of the girls working there. He never singled me our before or after.
I think I finally figured it out. It's been seventeen years and I still remember him (though I never knew his name); whatever else he does in his life he'll always be remembered by me as That Guy. Some people leave a legacy of pennicilin, or fine art, or of a better vacuum cleaner... this guy may not have done that, but he left a legacy of one lonely girl who had a VERY Merry Christmas at a time when she really needed it.
Thank you, anonymous dude in the Lake Forest mall in Gaithersburg. You live forever.