Over the Thanksgiving weekend, we went to Southern California to visit HapaPapa’s family. Along with the usual turkey dinner, shopping, and football watching, we made a trek to the La Brea Tar Pits and The Grove. At the end of a long day, we decided to stop at the historic Farmer’s Market for dinner. If you haven’t been there, some of the booths have been there since the 1930s: old fashioned ice cream, Jewish delis, sushi, shawermas, Chinese food.
Since there was a large group of us, including picky children, we split up to order food from different vendors. I zoomed in on a fish counter, with the intention of picking up something for my kids (who were on the verge of a low-sugar meltdown). My father-in-law also requested a fish and chips plate and a bowl of chowder, and my mother-in-law decided to help me carry the food. I bellied up to the counter:
“Two fish and chips dinners and a clam chowder, please.”
“Will that be halibut or cod?” the girl asked.
I glanced at the chalkboard menu. The handwritten script was pretty, but hard to decipher in a hurry. The line was growing, so I didn’t want to ask too many questions. The cod was a few dollars cheaper.
“Cod will be fine.”
“What size clam chowder? A cup or a bowl?”
“Umm, a bowl?”
“A bread bowl?” the girl asked, pointing to a loaf of sourdough.
“No thanks.” And then, realizing that I hadn’t thought about what I was going to eat, quickly added, “And a fried oyster plate.”
“And another fish and chips,” my mother-in-law added.
“That’ll be $69,” the clerk announced, as I suddenly noticed the CASH ONLY sign, realizing I only had a $20 bill in my wallet.
“I need to get some cash from my husband,” I whispered, hoping that I didn’t seem like I was fishing for a free meal.
“Oh, I got it,” MIL announced, fumbling around her purse.
Suddenly, a $100 bill landed on the counter.
“It’s on me,” a voice announced. I turned around to find a Black woman who I had never met before.
Before I could manage a response, MIL asked, “Why?”
“Do you believe in God?” our benefactor asked.
“Yes!” MIL replied.
“I had a feeling,” the woman said. “It’s how we should treat each other. It’s what the holidays are about.”
“Thank you,” I stammered, feeling awkward about accepting such a generous gift a stranger. She was taking her meal t0-go, and I glanced at her as she gathered her bag. She had three little kids with her. She was dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt and her arms were covered with tattoos.
Angels don’t always look the way we expect them to.
Have you ever been the recipient of a random act of kindness? Would you buy dinner for an absolute stranger (and her entire family)?
Wow that’s quite a story. Did you get her phone number or at least email?
No, I didn’t get her email or phone number. The thought did cross my mind at the moment, but decided to just enjoy the moment and let her be on her way. Happy Holidays, Jean!
what great act! God bless her!