Story of the Day 9/ 17/ 2009

I got a phone call from Cindie.

She was doing a mitzvah.
Of course, inherent in doing a mitzvah is that it is going to be a pain in the ass.
Isn’t that always attached to doing something good?
But this pain in the ass had gotten her lost- and she was calling me for help.

“Where is…….? That street doesn’t’ have that number on it. Have you ever been to their house?”

And I thought Cindie knew me. There was no way this particular family was going to invite me , in my thrift store clothes , for a casual social gathering at their poshy home on its private street.
Certainly, no way I could direct her to it, so that she could deliver the roses that had been ordered delivered to them as a fund raiser.
And she had been driving in circles for 20 minutes trying to find an address that might or might not even be current.

You see, I knew from general gossip that they had upgraded from their previous custom home, and wasn’t sure if she had the old or the new address. I opened up whitepages.com and found the address- then I mapquested it.

“Where are you?”

“Just past 65th Street.”

“Okay, then…..” and I gave her directions.
” Left there , then right, the a little farther, then left.
“No, not at that street, the next one, turn around and go back and make a right and then a left at the next street.”

With fatigue and frustration showing in her voice, Cindie said, “Do you think I should just go up there and say, ‘Here are your fucking flowers?’ ”

A few moments later, “I don’t’ see it.”

Then, finally, she did.