Christmas at a Filling Station
>
>
>The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't
>been
>anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. He had no
>decorations,
>no tree, no lights. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate
>Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. There were no
>children in his life. His wife had gone. He was sitting there looking at
>the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was
>all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through. Instead
>of throwing the man out, George, Old George, as he was known by his
>customers, told the man to come and sit by the space heater and warm-up.
>
>"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see
>you're
>busy. I'll just go."
>
>"Not without something hot in your belly." George turned and opened a
>wide
>mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's
>hot
>and tasty. Stew. Made it myself. When you're done there's coffee and
>it's fresh." Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell.
>
>"Excuse me, be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an
>old
>'53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked.
>
>"Mister can you help me!" said the driver with a deep accent. "My wife
>is
>with child and my car is broken."
>
>George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the
>cold; the car was dead. "You ain't going no where in this thing," George
>said as he turned away.
>
>"But mister. Please help...."
>
>The door of the office closed behind George as he went in. George went
>to
>the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside.
>He walked around the building and opened the garage, started the truck and
>drove it around to where the couple was waiting.
>
>"Here, you can borrow my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing
>you
>ever looked at, but she runs real good." George helped put the woman in
>the truck and watched as it sped off into the night.
>
>George turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I loaned em the
>truck. Their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new tires . .
>." George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone.
>The thermos was on the desk, empty with a used coffee cup beside it.
>
>"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought. George
>went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly,
>but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He
>thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve
>meant
>no customers.
>
>He discovered the block hadn't cracked; it was just the bottom hose on
>the
>radiator. "Well, I can fix this," he said to himself, so he put a new one
>on.
>
>"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took
>the
>snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like new and he
>wasn't going to drive the car. As he was working on the car, he heard a
>shot being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on
>the cold ground.
>
>Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me." George
>helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in
>the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention.
>
>"Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The laundry company had
>been
>there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct
>tape to bind the wound.
>
>"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anything," he said, trying to make the
>policeman feel at ease. "Something for pain," George thought. All he had
>was the pills he used for his back.
>
>"These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the
>policeman
>the pills. "You hang in there. I'm going to get you an ambulance," George
>said. But the phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on
>that there talk box out in your police car."
>
>He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard,
>destroying the two-way radio. He went back in to find the policeman
>sitting up.
>
>Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that
>shot me is still in the area."
>
>George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an injured man in the
>Army, and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to
>check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right
>through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think
>with time your gonna be right as rain."
>
>George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he
>asked.
>"None for me," said the officer. "C'mon and drink this. Best in the
>city." Then George added: "Too bad I ain't got no donuts."
>
>The officer laughed and winced at the same time.
>
>The front door of the station flew open. I n burst a young man with a
>gun.
>"Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was
>shaking. George could tell that he had never done anything like this
>before.
>
>"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.
>
>"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You need to put the
>cannon
>away. Somebody else might get hurt."
>
>The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too.
>Now
>give me the cash!"
>
>The cop was reaching for his gun.
>
>"Put that thing away," George said to the cop. "We got one too many in
>here now."
>
>He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve.
>If
>you need the money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got.
>Now put that pee shooter away."
>
>George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man,
>reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time.
>
>The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees, and
>began to
>cry.
>
>"I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for
>my
>wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job. My rent is due. My car got
>repossessed last week."
>
>George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze
>now
>and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the
>best we
>can."
>
>He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across
>from
>the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things."
>
>George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being stupid is one of
>the
>things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer.
>Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."
>
>The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I
>shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."
>
>"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said.
>
>George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an
>ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn.
>
>"Chuck! You OK?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
>
>"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"
>
>"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Did you see
>who
>shot you?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man. Chuck
>answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped
>his gun and ran."
>
>George and the young man looked at each other, puzzled.
>
>"That guy works here," the wounded cop continued, referring to the
>young
>man.
>
>"Yep," George said. "Just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."
>
>The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young
>man
>leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?"
>
>Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas, boy. And you too, George, and
>thanks
>for everything."
>
>"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to
>solve
>some of your problems." George went into the back room and came out with a
>box. From the larger box he pulled out a ring box. "Here you go.
>Something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said
>it would come in handy someday."
>
>The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever
>seen.
>"I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you."
>
>"And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my
>memories.
>That's all I need."
>
>George reached into the box again. A toy airplane, a racing car and a
>little metal truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had
>left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours."
>The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old
>man had handed him earlier.
>
>"And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep
>that,
>too. Count it as part of your first week's pay." George said. "Now git
>home to your family."
>
>The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here
>in
>the morning for work, if that job offer is still good."
>
>"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day
>after."
>George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you
>come from? I thought you left?"
>
>"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You
>say
>you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"
>
>"Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what all the
>bother
>was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin'
>cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself, and
>besides I was getting a little chubby."
>
>The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate
>the
>holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and you warmed me when I was
>cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son, and he will become
>a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from
>being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will
>become
>a rich man and share his wealth with many people. That is the spirit
>of
>the season, and you keep it as good as any man." George was taken aback by
>all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the
>old
>man.
>
>"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And
>when your days are done you will be with Martha again." The stranger moved
>toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I
>have
>to go home where there is a big celebration planned." George watched
>as
>the man's old leather jacket and his torn pants turned into a white robe.
>A golden light began to fill the room. "You see, George, it's my birthday.
>Merry Christmas."
>
>Author Unknown - Merry Christmas Everyone
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