I broke my foot on the first day of this new year. It was a blessing and a curse. A blessing as it forced upon me healthy eating habits and productivity. The curse portion is obvious. I won't go into detail. I left my full-time job mid-January to pursue a career more focused on editorial opportunities. And with that freedom went my health insurance. COBRA proved ludicrously expensive. Blue Cross denied me due to my pre-existing condition. I, of course, blogged about that experience here. Luckily my orthopedist would continue to see me, and luckily I met Josie. Josie works in the accounting department and is an angel. With my tail between my legs, I smiled and explained my situation. She understood. And with each check-up she shaved a few more dollars off my bill. While her scornful job-related comments convinced me that she enjoys nothing about her job, she always remained polite and pleasant. And apparently I did, too.
My last appointment was Wednesday, May 25. Confident that my foot was healed, I hopped onto the x-ray table, laughing at the technician's usual joke before he snapped a shot: "Smile!" The doctor entered my room with a smile, and I, resisting the urge to put down my People magazine, returned his expression. My foot was healed. I could hop. I could jump. I could run. I just had to ease into it. I skipped towards the exit, turning right into Josie's open-wall "office" and told her the good news. I thanked her again for all of her help over the last few months. I wished her a great rest of her week. She told me she'd mail me the check, as usual.
When I called Josie to pay my final installment of "The Metatarsal Trust," I thanked her again. And she said something like this. "You are always so polite and pleasant. I don't help everyone, but when someone is as nice as you, I am happy to reciprocate." That felt good. That felt great. That felt phenomenal. She made my day, my week and possibly my year.
So there you have it. Be nice.