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On a recent weekend in Atlantic City, a woman won a bucketful
of quarters at a slot machine. She took a break from the slots for
dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room. But first she
wanted to stash the quarters in her room. "I'll be right back and
we'll go to eat," she told her husband and she carried the coin-laden
bucket to the elevator.
As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed two men already
aboard. Both were black. One of them was big ... very big ... an
intimidating figure. The woman froze. Her first thought was: These two
are going to rob me. Her next thought was: Don't be a bigot, they look
like perfectly nice gentlemen. But racial stereotypes are powerful,
and
fear immobilized her.
She stood and stared at the two men. She felt anxious, flustered,
ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind, But knew they surely
did;
her hesitation about joining them on the elevator was all too obvious.
Her face was flushed. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty
effort of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed
with the other foot and was on the elevator. Avoiding eye contact, she
turned around stiffly and faced the elevator doors as they closed.
A second passed, and then another second, and then another. Her fear
increased! The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her. My God,
she thought, I'm trapped and about to be robbed! Her heart
plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore.
Then ... one of the men said, "Hit the floor," Instinct told her:
Do what they tell you. The bucket of quarters flew upwards as she
threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator carpet. A shower
of coins rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she
prayed.
More seconds passed. She heard one of the men say politely,
"Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll
push the button," The one who said it had a little trouble getting
the
words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh. She
lifted
her head and looked up at the two men. They reached down to help
her up. Confused, to she struggled her feet.
"When I told my man here to hit the floor," said the average sized
one, "I meant that he should hit the elevator button for our floor.
I didn't mean for you to hit the floor, ma'am." He spoke genially.
He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having a hard time not laughing.
She thought: My God, what a spectacle I've made of myself. She was
too humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an apology, but
words
failed her. How do you apologize to two perfectly respectable
gentlemen
for behaving as though they were going to rob you? She didn't know
what
to say.
The 3 of them gathered up the strewn quarters and refilled her
bucket.
When the elevator arrived at her floor they insisted on walking her to
her room. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and they were
afraid
she might not make it down the corridor. At her door they bid her a
good
evening. As she slipped into her room she could hear them roaring
with
laughter while they walked back to the elevator. The woman brushed
herself off. She pulled herself together and went downstairs for
dinner
with her husband.
The next morning flowers were delivered to her room-a dozen roses.
Attached to EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill.
The card said:
"Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years."
It was signed, Eddie Murphy & Michael Jordan
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