Lee Geiger

“In my little town

I grew up believing

God keeps his eye on us all”

–  Simon and Garfunkel, “My Little Town” (1975)

Monday, 8:42am—It’s a relaxing President’s Day morning, and I’m draped across my sofa channel surfing between a John Quincy Adams biography and Robert Redford narrating a documentary on the making of All The President’s Men. I’m dressed head to toe in sweats, and I’m enjoying a steaming hot cup of tea. My big plan for the day is meeting The Pretty Blonde at the St. Mary’s College dining commons, where she’s offered to buy me lunch. Life is good.

8:43am—I downshift the sofa recliner to neutral and head to the kitchen for a snack. I swing by my office to check my cell phone, just in case Robo left a text updating his golf match. I have a voicemail? At 7:52am? From a local number? I listen to the message, and my face turns to chalk as I try to recall what I was doing two hours earlier…

6:45am—After a trip to Starbucks to surprise The Pretty Blonde with a Monday morning latte, I stop by the ARCO station to fill up my car. I nonchalantly open my wallet, lazily pull out the credit card, and mindlessly push the appropriate buttons. After shoving the nozzle into the gas tank, I stare blankly at a decorative water feature bubbling next to the sidewalk, wondering what on Earth it is doing there.

8:44am—I hurriedly return the phone call. The message was from a Moraga resident who said he found my business card lying on the ground at the ARCO station. It was next to a credit card receipt with my name on it. And a wad of cash. I check my wallet. It’s emptier than a California reservoir.

8:47am—After describing what restaurant tab I charged to my card, and the amount of cash I had in my wallet, Mr. Good Samaritan asks a final question. “There was also a yellow slip of paper that looked like a shopping list. Can you tell me what was on it?” I quickly dial back through the pages of my mind. Is this a trick question, I think to myself? I can’t even remember if I showered this morning. Suddenly, a flash of light goes off in my head. “Romaine lettuce,” I sputter. Winner.  

9:00am—I pull up in front of Mr. Good Samaritan’s home, located at the corner of Honest and Ethical. I shake his hand and thank him profusely. We chat for awhile and find common ground in both having spent the past twenty-something years raising families in Moraga. I want to offer him a reward, but it’s clear this is the last thing a man of his means needs. Or wants. “Talk to the gas station attendant,” he tells me. “He’s really worried.”  

9:05am—I return to the ARCO station and head straight for the office. While it’s nice to get my cash back, I’m more grateful my credit number didn’t fall into the wrong hands. Mr. Gas Station Dude sits at a desk behind a counter of breath mints and car deodorants. “I was really worried,” he says with an accent. “I didn’t want people to think I’d take the money and not say anything. Plus the man who found your money on the ground is really nice.” No kidding. I hand Mr. Gas Station Dude a cash reward. He gives me an even bigger hug.

9:10am—I return to my couch and get reacquainted with John Quincy Adams and Robert Redford. My mind begins to wander, as I ponder the events of what started out as a quiet President’s Day morning. Moraga, and its people, is a pretty special place. A smile finds it place on my face.

Life is good.      

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