About a year ago, I told of an experience I had, and then asked you, my clever, wise and highly attractive readers, to come up with a moral for the story. (link here) I had another experience last week that calls for your input as well. What principles are exemplified? How could you use this in a lesson or a talk? Show me what you've got!
I was home finishing my lunch, when I heard a gentle knocking at the front door. I got up to see who it was.
A man stood there, dressed entirely in black. Black shoes, black slacks, and a tight black t-shirt. He was short - maybe 5'4", and muscular. He was clean shaven, including his head. The only thing that was not black was a silver chain he wore around his neck, and silver rings he wore on three of his fingers. In his right hand, he held a small black bag.
This was not your average boy trying to sell magazines to keep himself "off the street."
The man spoke. "Os-kar sent me."
I had almost anticipated his thick accent. I stood staring at him wondering what I - a middle-aged mormon man - possibly could have done to attract the attention of the Russian Mafia.
I gathered myself and asked, "May I help you?"
"Oscar sent me to look at deesh-washer."
"Oh!" (Lightbulb) "The dishwasher! Come right in."
I had completely forgotten that we had scheduled an appointment for a repairman to come look at our dishwasher. I led him into the kitchen and pointed at the offending appliance.
"It makes a terrible noise, and takes hours to complete a cycle. We think it's a bad pump."
The man nodded, set his black bag on the floor, and knelt down next to the dishwasher. He punched a few buttons and started a cycle. It began it's loud, growling routine. It didn't use to be loud - it was almost silent. It is a KItchenAid dishwasher that was ridiculously expensive.
"Veery nice deeshwasher. Veery expensive." He said.
"That's why we are hoping we can get it repaired." I flinched.
He stopped the cycle and said, "I look inside."
He opened the door and started taking things apart. I went to the other side of the kitchen island to look through some mail while I was waiting. I couldn't see hm, but I could hear him busily taking apart the machine.
After a couple of moments, I saw his hand reach up to the counter. Once, twice, three times. Each time he left a small round object. I walked back around to see what he had found.
He looked up at me and said, "Three cheery peets. Is what broke your deeshwasher."
Cherry pits? My mind was trying to recall the last time we had had fresh cherries? Summer? August, perhaps? Of course my next thought was to assign blame: Which one of the kids would put cherry pits in the dishwasher? What were they thinking?
The repairman interrupted my thoughts by saying, "Not good idea to put cheery peets in deeshwasher. Peets broke pump. Veery expensive."
"How expensive?" I flinched again.
"I don't know. One maybe two pumps. Veery expensive. I call parts department and call back."
"OK. Put it back together and give me a call when you get the pricing."
He started reassembling the dishwasher, and I went to find my EC.
"Honey, good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
"He is not here from the Russian Mafia to take me out."
"That's the good news? Then what's the bad news?"
"The dishwasher pump was broken by cheery peets, and it is going to be veery expensive."
"How expens...wait...did you say cherry pits?"
"Yup. Cheery peets."
"I wonder which one of the boys did that. When was the last time we had cherries?"
"My thoughts exactly."
I showed the repairman to the door, and headed back to work. The next day I got a call with the bad news. It is veery expensive.
At the end of the day, our beautiful dishwasher was rendered worthless...by three tiny cherry pits.
And thus we see...
(Here is a recording, in case you thought I was making this up.)