> Holiday Story
> -----------------
>
> In the tradition of the Dilbert Newsletter, I include my holiday story
with
> no attempt at humor.
>
> Between the ages of twelve and fifteen I earned money by shoveling snow
> during the frigid winter months in Windham, New York.  My best customers
> were a retired Greek couple -- Mr. and Mrs. Amanatides -- who lived half a
> mile from my house.  The standing agreement was that on any morning after
a
> snowfall I would arrive at their house at 6 a.m. and shovel the sidewalk
> prior to Mr. Amanatides' morning walk to town.
>
> This was no small task for a 95-pound kid.  It was challenge enough to
> reach their house through the snow.  Usually the roads weren't plowed yet,
> so I'd take the back way, often crawling through waist-high snowdrifts.
> I'd be exhausted before the shoveling even began.
>
> As sidewalks go, this was a big job.  The Amanatides' walkway went around
> the entire perimeter of the house and included a patio area and several
> sets of steps.  I was instructed to shovel four inches past the edge of
the
> sidewalk on each side to allow for proper drainage when the snow melted. I
> had to shovel like a crazed beaver to finish in time for school.  After
> school, I would return and do the driveway.
>
> It was hard work, but it paid embarrassingly well.  At a time when five
> dollars would have been fair pay for an hour of work, Mr. Amanatides
> volunteered twenty.  I was so uncomfortable with that amount that one day
I
> decided to convince him to pay me less.  I didn't mind the hard work, but
I
> couldn't bear taking so much money from this nice man.
>
> Normally we didn't talk much.  I was always in a hurry and he was a man of
> few words.  Maybe that's why I remember the conversation so well.
>
> After the shoveling was done, I tried my reverse-negotiating technique.  I
> insisted he pay me less from now on.  Mr. Amanatides did a quick read on
> the situation and told me to put my shovel down and listen.  He explained
> his thinking in simple terms, distilled from seventy years of living.
When
> he was done, I thanked him for the money and never brought up the topic
> again.
>
> Mr. Amanatides passed away some years ago.  He didn't get to see that his
> overpaid snow-shoveler turned out okay.  Although he's gone physically, he
> bought a bit of immortality that cold winter morning, when he looked at
the
> skinny kid from Windham and told him something that many people never hear
> in their lives.  He said, in his thick Greek accent, "You're worth it."
>
> This holiday season, make yourself immortal.  Let someone know how much
> they're worth.  You'll be surprised how long they remember it.
>
> Thanks to all of you for making this a great year for me.  Have a great
> holiday and a great 1999.