Karma, that’s a Sanskrit word for "what goes around comes around." At the Haverhill City Women’s Club in Haverhill, Massachusetts, the pre-program munchies were mostly chocolate (yum) and the tea and coffee served from silver pots, tres elegant, that’s French for "fancy." We swapped stories. In fact, the ladies were piping up with stories from the beginning – just the way I like it.
At a Christmas party at a certain restaurant, Ruth was in charge of reservations for her group. She collected money from everyone, quite a large crowd, but when she received the bill, management had charged more for the roast beef than the chicken. Well, she couldn’t go back to the ladies and ask them to pay extra, so she paid the difference herself. She was not happy.
The next year, she again attended a function at the certain restaurant and accidentally went home with the wrong coat. She realized her mistake when she got home and called the restaurant immediately. They were in a tizzy. It wasn’t just the missing coat, but the car keys in the pocket that had caused a problem. Accommodatingly, she drove right back to the restaurant and returned the coat. Management handed her an envelope with a $50 check for her trouble – just the amount she’d been out the Christmas before. Karma.
Speaking of chocolates, a mother and son developed a clever way of solving the mystery of what lurked within. They’d puncture each chocolate with a toothpick, test the insides, smooth over the holes in the ones they didn’t like. So dad got a lot of fruit-filled, and they ate the caramels, or as we say around here, karmels.
One club member, a descendant of Roger Williams (these things come up in conversation), worked in a resort in New Hampshire as a girl. This was in the days when wealthy folks stayed all summer. She worked as a waitress. One guest, a little old lady, was among her charges for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. This guest never ordered anything off the menu, everything had special instructions, and she required a lot of attention. After a time, the little old lady slipped the waitress a fifty-cent piece and whispered: “You can expect this every month, dear.”
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