“Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.” —Mark Twain
The work on my car had taken longer than expected, and Sandy had been giving me a ride to the office for the last couple of days. I had always considered Sandy a decent enough guy, although we never socialized outside of work. Sandy had one of those long Russian last names that no one could ever pronounce. He went by the one name “Sandy A” for as long as I had known him. Some of his work mail was even addressed to “Sandy A” with no other name on the envelope and it always ended up on his desk. I tried to pronounce his last name once with a fake Russian accent and the proper emphasis on the syllables, and it came out “Archangel”. This became a bit of a running gag between us and that’s about as close as our friendship ever got.
Sandy and I worked for a company that sold medical supplies to hospitals. We were both in sales, so this put us into direct contact with people from a number of hospitals in the area, including quite a few doctors. The buyers who worked for the hospitals were all making well into the six figures, and the doctors were making a helluva lot more. Sandy was always jealous of the money these hospital people were making, especially the doctors. He was always going on about the big houses the doctors lived in and the fancy cars they drove. He griped about his own lack of education, and he was always buying lotto tickets so he could make a big score and live in a fancy house just like all the doctors. The rich doctors were not the only targets of Sandy’s discontent. He liked to go on about anyone he ever knew who he figured had ended up with more than he had. His favorite target was a friend he had in high school who married a gal with money and was now living the high life in Palm Springs.
“I can’t believe that guy, the luck of that deadbeat mumblebum,” he would say. “Some deadbeats have all the luck.”
I knew what I was in for, but I had to get to work.
During these rides to the office, Sandy never let up. I listened politely as he rambled on about all the money he was going to earn when he started the right business, or bought the right stock at just the right time, or whatever it was that was going to give his life the wings it so desperately needed. I was a guest in his vehicle, and I did not say too much. I was thinking about how much my car was going to cost and how foolish I was to have ever bought it in the first place.
By the third day, I’d had enough of Sandy’s money-talk, and I was determined to take a taxi the next morning if my car wasn’t ready that afternoon. On this day, Sandy had stopped to pick
