Try to Ruin Scrooge’s Day

Greetings from Poosey.

Christmas is probably not the most appropriate time of year to think of skinflints, but every time the yuletide seasons rolls around I think of the various Scrooges I’ve met in my life.

One of the weirdest ducks to ever waddle ‘round Poosey was a minister. I won’t mention the denomination lest the Methodists get angry. I’ll call him Pastor Bob since I can’t remember his real name anyway. Pastor Bob would go to a restaurant and count his peas. I’m not kidding. He’d count the number of peas on his plate and compare them to the number served in the neighboring town. When he’d come a pea or two short at the “Café de Poosey” he’d complain to the cook who was also the manager and served as waitress. Norma ran a friendly little restaurant and she’d never dream of shortchanging anyone, but even her angelic temperament was strained when Pastor Bob would give his weekly pea count. When one day he brought in a tiny ruler to measure the height of the meringue on his coconut cream pie she’d had enough. She wrapped up about two pounds of peas in aluminum foil, ladled a gob of meringue on top, and plopped it down in front of him as he went to pay his check (always without leaving a tip.) She informed him that there was plenty of seating space in a restaurant somewhere in Paris and he should go there next time he got hungry. The assembled crowd applauded. By the way, he took the peas and the pie topping with him.

Herb used to play pool with a fellow named Larry. Back in those days you’d go to the pool hall and be charged by the hour. If I remember correctly it was 60 cents for 60 minutes. Larry could out-scrooge Scrooge. As soon as he’d put the eight ball into the side pocket for the final game of the night, he’d pick up his cue and actually run to the checkout desk to slap his cue down and clock himself out. That left poor Herb to rack the balls and return them to the proprietor. At most it may have saved Larry a nickel.

My Aunt Louise lived through the Great Depression. Like many of her generation she had trouble shaking the mentality that once kept her family alive during those lean times. We’d all look the other way when she’d grab a handful of ketchup packets at Burger King and stuff a wad of napkins in her purse. I suppose if times ever got tough again the lady could live on napkins and ketchup until the nation recovered. She could be excused a bit of miserly behavior since the motive was not to cheat anyone but she simply harbored an inordinate fear of having to go without. Some skinflints have no such excuse.

The most offensive tightwads are more subtle… the ungracious customers who take out their dither on harried salesclerks and the diners who turn miserly when it comes to leaving a tip. I used to belong to a Thursday Lunch Club, a group of gals who’d choose a different place to dine each week. We’d pay our own way and leave our own tip …except for Wanda. Wanda would look around the table at the amount we were tipping and figure that we’d left enough and she could skip the gratuity. When our group finally caught on to this tightfisted behavior, we’d wait for her to tip first. Caught at last, she’d whip out her pencil and figure the exact 10%. If the amount came out uneven she’d round it down a penny in her favor. The rest of us eventually started chipping in a bit extra to make up for Wanda’s cheapness.

But it’s more than money. In fact, cash might be the least effective way to show our generosity. Last night I sat watching the local news on television. The weatherman came on to give the forecast. He was taking the place of the usual fellow. This new guy’s manner, his smile, his lack of CNN-type breathless excitement almost made me happy to hear that we might have a chance of snow. So I thought, “What the heck?” and sent the guy an email, thanking him for the way he presented the weather. He answered within minutes, saying that no one had ever told him that. When I returned to the news at 10 p.m. I could swear that he was smiling even more broadly.

Sales clerks, mechanics, waitresses, the lady who takes your coffee order, could all use a shot of holiday thanks. Mark Twain said, “I can live a whole month on a good compliment.” I’ll make my New Year’s resolution early and simply resolve to thank, to compliment, and to encourage. And if you do run into a genuine black-hearted Scrooge this Christmas, give him a good compliment. It’ll ruin his day.

You ever ‘round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.