So I'm three hours from Charlotte where I just deposited my teenager into his three day football camp, got him all moved into his appointed dorm room at Queen's University and headed north to spend the weekend with my writer friend.
Erin and I are just saying our hellos when I get the phone call - "Hey mom, one of my cleats broke. Can you come buy me a new pair." Yeah right. Like I'm gonna drive three hours back to Charlotte, buy him a pair of shoes then drive three hours back to Erin's. Nope, you're just going to have to play in sneakers.
And he's okay with that, really he is. It's his mom who's not. Heck, we paid a small fortune for this camp! Why short change it now by making him run in sneakers. But what to do? what do to? what to do? Rummaging through my purse I come up with the receipt from a sporting goods store about a mile from the campus. We had stopped there the night before to pick up a new jersey. Turns out the one Ronnie brought from home didn't fit over his shoulder pads. Anyway, the phone is answered by a gentleman who identifies himself as Chip.
"Hi Chip. My name's Linda and I have a small delima," and I explain my shoe problem. "If I can get my son over to the store tomorrow, can you call me and charge a new pair of cleats on my card?"
Chip says it's not their standard way of doing business but in view of my situation, he'll do it for me. So I text this to my son: "can you see if one of the coaches can run you over to the store tomorrow to pick out a new pair of cleats. Call me when you get there and we'll put the shoes on my card." Less than an hour later my phone's ringing again. "We're not allowed to be one-on-one, alone with the coaches here.. camp rules. And we're not really s'pose to leave campus either."
Rats, I think. I guess he'll be running in sneakers after all. But I'm struck with a tiny epiphany and I make another call. "Hey Chip, it's Linda again . . . . I wonder . . . how would you feel about . . . . um . . . delivering a pair of cleats?" I spit the last part out real fast.
Chip pauses for a couple of beats and then says, "Sure, I could do that." And then he goes on to explain how he's an alum of Queens and he'll not only deliver the shoes but he can find out exactly where my cleatless kid is and take them to him! He asks me what position my son plays and I tell him wide receiver so he suggests the kind of shoe that he has for that position.
Just as I'm sealing the transaction something else occurs to me. "Hey Chip," I say, "what if my son has a problem with these shoes - not being able to try them on and all."
"Well," he says, "let me put my phone number inside the box. If he has a problem with them, have him give me a call and I'll bring another pair."
"SHUT UP!" I say. I'm more than a tad bit flabbergasted by this random act of unexpected kindness. Where I'm from, folks would have just told me I was out of luck. But Chip . . . well, he's not only offering to deliver the goods but he's gonna follow up on them afterward!
So now the deal's done, the credit card's been charged and the shoes are delivered. My three days with my friend are over and it's time to collect my football player. I've stopped at a bakery on the way and picked up a nice box of assorted cookies along with a great big thank you card for Chip. I was hoping to meet him, to thank him in person. But he's not working today so I'm explaining what he did to one of his co-workers. Half way through the telling I start wondering if I'm gonna get Chip into trouble, what with him going against policy and all. But it's too late to stop the story so I finish the whole thing. Right up to the box of cookies that I don't know what to do with now.
"Yeah," the new guy says, "Chip's just a big ol' teddy bear. Tell ya what, I know where he lives. I'll take these to him tonight on the way home."
And I'm shaking my head, thinking how much I really like the people here in Charlotte.
Oh, and the cleats are pretty slick looking too.
