Like a pillar, he stood at the airport arrival gateway, day after day, month after month, holding the same sign. The chauffeurs and shuttle drivers considered him crazy, but harmless; a pitiable nice guy.
“Are you here for me,” asked a Latin beauty.
“Are you ‘Maria M. Esperanza?’”
“Sí. Have you been waiting long?”
“All my life,” he smiled.
* * * * *
Courtney had noticed that Steve from accounting always seemed down in the dumps, so she often made efforts to lift his spirits. Today she bumped into him at the copier wearing his familiar “Yamamoto #7” casual-day jersey. “I heard that your Cubs are just one game away from winning it all! You must be so excited!”
“I guess it’s hard for me to feel one way or the other about it,” he replied.
“Why? What’s wrong,” she asked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, but her sincere, puppy dog concern forced him to say more. “Things in my life have never really gone my way, so this year I got ‘disappointment insurance.’ My agent took down my dislikes, and how much I dislike them, and gave me a quote. It was pretty expensive, but I figured it was worth it. So now, I either get to watch my beloved Cubbies lose the World Series, or I miss out on a $5,255 windfall.”
“So would you rather that they win or would you rather get the money?”
“Eh,” he shrugged indifferently.