On a recent weekend in Atlantic City, the woman related, she 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, even if one of them is awfully black.
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 burned. 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.
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, she struggled to her feet.
"When I told my man
here to hit the floor," said one of the men (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 robbing you? She didn't know.
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 laughing 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,
Eddy Murphy
Michael Jordan