Tamales
Two weeks ago, a couple of eight year-olds came up to my doorstep and asked me if I wanted to buy some tamales — a fundraiser for their school, $20 for twelve of them. They hadn’t sold any yet, and personally, I just couldn’t say no. So I give them the cash, and they write my name down on their blank order notices.
As soon as they left, I realized that the only info they had was my name, and that they didn’t even give me a receipt. I laughed at myself, and wondered if I’d been duped by some kids.
Then yesterday, I hear someone knocking on my door and, sure enough, there they were, with my tamales! I asked how the sale went.
“No,” the little girl said, as she gently smiled. “We only sold one.”
So today, I pull into my driveway and see my neighbor greet me warmly. I haven’t lived here in Sacramento that long, nor am I at home that often, so I’m not really familiar with my neighbors here. He asks me about my plans for grad school, and I tell him that I’m thinking about getting a master’s degree in education. Turns out, those two kids were my next-door neighbors, and their mother is pretty grateful for what I did for them. She works for the Sacramento Unified School District — she does the new teacher hires — and said that after I finish school, if I’m ever in need of a job, she’d help me out.
Small world.
