The Missing Doorknob

Christina’s life had never been easy. She had grown up in a poor farmer’s family. There was never enough money to go around; never enough food to make the table look full. She had spent most of her life slaving in the barn or over a kiln, the one thing her family had true talent for: making pottery. That was almost their only source of income.

Because of this, Christina went to school only two days a week. Her parents could not afford gas, so she had the option of walking or riding her bike. The main result of this was that she was a slow reader and had bad penmanship, negative qualities in applying for a job.

And when she went to school, Christina suffered ridicule. Her clothes were handmade by her mother, not by some fancy manufacturer. Most of the time she’d pretend to go to school those two days, and then sneak off into the woods. This alone did not help her education. But her mom always found out. Christina was constantly reminded to be thankful she was allowed to attend the school for all the well-to-do girls. And of course, those girls reminded Christina more than her mother.

After eighth grade, she stopped going because her parents could no longer afford it. So because of this lack of grade school and high school education, Christina didn’t qualify for colleges with even the lowest acceptances.

But Christina grew up. She escaped from the boundaries of her home, though things never really changed. She still struggled with her job and her family. There were always bills to sort through and loans to pay off. But she was making it. For awhile, she worked for a company that processed orders for different products. But that hadn’t worked out. Her lack of education was the main problem

Christina had been lucky enough to have a good friend who owned a thriving business. Her friend employed her, but only paid minimal wage because Christina wasn’t really even qualified for the job. It called for constant reading so Christina worked extra hard.

Weeks went by and Christina was used to coming home to her husband and two girls and seeing the table full of not delicious, but better-than-bad food, and smiles on their faces. Christina became a happier person, though she was still working hard and weary from long hours. She fell into the routine of having the bills paid before the end of the month and even got herself a credit card.

Then less than two months after she had started working her new job with its new hours, there was a decrease in the business income. Christina soon learned that several hundred workers would be out of jobs.

Christina came to work each day with her fingers crossed. “It couldn’t be me,” she boasted to her co-workers. “I’ve been having such great luck and working so hard.” And to herself, “There is no way my best friend would do this to me. She knows how much I need the job.” Four days passed without even a hint of a pink slip in her department building.

This put everyone in high spirits. They came to work every morning, laughing and joking. They brought in boxes of doughnuts to celebrate their job holdings. If you didn’t find a pink slip, you got a doughnut. Christina was so sure of not losing her job she never even said anything to her husband or children.

Then the following Monday when everyone entered work, Christina found it awfully quiet. Too quiet. None of her colleagues were talking or carrying on, and she did not smell any glazed doughnuts. Christina felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she approached her desk.

There, taped to the corner of her work area, was a slip of paper that was the ugliest, brightest pink in the world. Christina never even read it. She took it, crumpled it up in her fist, and walked quietly back out of the building, not once saying a word. She kept her composure until she was sure that none of her co-workers could see her, then she began crying.

Her husband got home early that night and wondered why Christina was home. He was alarmed when he found her crying on the couch. She told him the whole story. Her two girls came home from school and found both of their parents on the couch crying and holding hands. Christina told them the bad news as calmly as she could.

Things got bad. Christina’s husband worked at the post office and his job didn't pay nearly as much as hers had. They were hurting for money. Christina could not believe her bad luck. But was it bad luck . . . or destiny? She thought back to the old days when she’d spun the pottery wheel for two, maybe three, hours only earning a dime. She sunk into her old, dismal lifestyle.

After a month, Christina started combing her hometown for jobs. Her husband had convinced her that her behavior was only hurting her family. And she did not want her children growing up like she had. So every day she got her lazy self to board the subway and ride to the city to comb the streets and newspaper ads for jobs. She had maybe only an interview a week.

When she started going, she noticed a man in a trenchcoat that always sat across from her. He never said a word but she could feel his eyes on her. He looked how Christina thought a member of a gang might look, so she made sure she was as far away from him as could be. The second day, the man talked to her.

“Hello, ma’am. Good morning,” he said politely.

“Good morning,” Christina replied warily.

“Could I get you to do me a favor?” He asked. Christina was silent. “Could you please deliver this package to the soup kitchen?”

“I’m afraid that would be impossible. I’m on a tight schedule and not having a very good day,” she replied curtly, turning away from the man.

“I’m sure it would be possible if you were the one starving,” was the last comment the man made before he got off the subway.

Christina felt kind of bad after the man left. He had seemed like a nice person, in spite of his clothes and odor. But she was busy and had thousands of job interviews to go. Literally. It seemed everyone wanted more workers, and no one wanted her.

The first job interview she went to did not go so well. It was an interview for a typing job, but of course Christina couldn’t type. Her fingers felt awkward and clumpy on the keyboard. She had hoped they would offer her another job but they did not.

The one she went to next went even worse than that. They took one look at her resume, almost blank, and told her to pack her bags and get going. The last place she went to that day actually laughed at her. Christina had never been so mortified.

She saw the man on the subway every day. He often asked her if she would please deliver the soup for him.

“I have a family to go home to,” he said, “and they need me.”

“So do I,” Christina snapped. “I’m out of work and nobody will hire me. My yearly income will soon be below poverty level.” She turned back to her book, he his newspaper.

The man tried one more time. “Ma’am, I will pay you if you would only deliver this soup.”

This caught Christina’s attention. She looked up. “How much?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out two tens. Christina’s eyes shined and hope rose within her.

She took the bills. “It’s a deal,” she said. “The Llowry Soup Kitchen?” She checked, making sure.

The man nodded and got off the train. One easy delivery, twenty dollars. Things were looking up.

The next day, the man spoke to her again. “Christina, I know you are out of work and need a job. Well, I’m not very clever and I need advice. There is this woman I speak to every day. She’s out of work, though she’s a smart young woman, and she needs a job. I could give her one, a good one, paying highly. I’m Bob Ritz, the infamous millionaire. But this woman is very self-absorbed. She has not wanted to help me until money was offered, and only cares about her own problems. Being self-absorbed in this world today costs you money. I am sure that is why she’s having troubles. What do you think I should do?”

Christina was dumbfounded. She sat there a minute, her mouth hanging open, before replying. I’m Bob Ritz, the infamous millionaire. It was bouncing around in her head. She knew, once again, she had made a mistake, a mistake that would cost her dearly. She thought carefully before replying.

“Well, sir, I don’t think you should give it to her. She sounds self-absorbed, yet I am sure that is because of her childhood and her lifestyle now. There are probably other people out there who are better for the job and need it more.”

The man was silent for a second. Then a smile came to his face. “You’ve been hired by the soup kitchen!” He said. “Congratulations!”

“How much do I get paid?” Christina asked, a little skeptically. The soup kitchen didn’t sound like much. But it was perfect. No reading or writing. Just generosity and two able hands.

“As much as you need every week,” the man replied. “From one thousand to ten.”

Christina was aghast.

“You probably will not see me again, because I’m a very busy man. But carry this piece of advice with you, Christina. God never closes one door without opening another, but though he gives you the door, you must find the doorknob.”