Upon hearing about the recent death of a great Georgian and 39th President of the United States, Jimmy Carter, I immediately knew what sort of piece I wanted to write for my column. On New Year’s Eve, a singular event in the personal lives of my family so overwhelmed my thoughts that I think Mr. Carter might forgive me writing the column before you instead.
I'm still processing the whole thing myself and my impressions remain jumbled. Simply put, while I was in line with my family at Dollar Tree, a man walked up to me, set a bag at my feet, said 'Merry Christmas' and walked away.
There is a brand new Playstation 5 inside.
My kids go nuts. People are staring at us. The lady in line ahead of us nearly bursts into tears of joy, saying she felt lucky just to have been present to see something like that.
I’m stunned on every level: the strangeness of it all, how quickly the guy came and went, confusion and unease wrestling with wonder and gratitude.
Work ran long that day, so I had raced back home to pick up my family in time to race back to town, eat food and see a movie. We saw Moana 2. It was okay, but I couldn’t stay focused on it for any length of time because my brain kept going back the PS5 sitting in our car outside. It couldn’t be a scam, right?
I've been approached by scammers before, especially in the parking lot of a big box retailer where I used to work. Usually it’s a “fell off the truck, not listed on my requisition papers, sell it to you cheap” flim-flam. This was totally out of the blue. There was no spiel, no line of patter. The man barely spoke to or interacted with me. He had said two whole words, “Merry Christmas.”
If it was a scam, it was a highly inefficient one. First step, give the sucker a $500 gaming system for no guaranteed return of investment. I mean, I was at dollar tree with my wife and three noisy kids buying cheap candy.
Obviously, I'm not a high value target for someone trying to hack a bank account or credit card number.
The tape on the top panel of the box was cut as if someone had looked in it. While my wife went to another store I sat in the van and unpacked the game system. Everything was still wound up, secured with twist ties or in the original wrap from the factory. I was looking for airtags or stalkery tracking stuff. Unless it was inside the PS5 itself, I didn't find anything.
Hacking, tracking devices, hidden cameras, these were all much more charitable thoughts than my first ones upon being the recipient of such unexpected charity.
I won’t lie. We were standing in line at Dollar Tree to buy candy for the movies. After feeding everyone at our favorite Mexican buffet the highway robbery of snack prices at the movie would be too much to bear.
For someone constantly telling his children to be more aware of the world around them, I wasn’t terribly observant of my own surroundings when the nondescript man in ballcap, t-shirt, shorts and sneakers came in the front door. It all happened so fast.
In the periphery of my vision I see my wife step aside to let him by without looking up from her phone. I step back to do the same. The line always seems to be long at Dollar Tree and I figured he must want access to the aisles on the other side of us.
Again, I won’t lie. My first thought when he said “Merry Christmas” was something like “You’re running late, buddy. It’s New Year.”
I also won’t lie that when he put the bag at my feet a crazy, paranoid fear flitted through my mind. What is he’s a psycho? What if there’s a nail bomb in there?
It is sad we live in a world where I'm jaded enough that my first instinct is a threat response. And this was before the grim news that came later that same New Year’s— of the car driving into a crowd in New Orleans and then coming out shooting, of the Tesla cybertruck exploding in front of Trump’s hotel in Las Vegas.
Instead of being a hero and throwing myself on top of the mysterious package, I awkwardly pick it up and offer a monosyllabic “Okay. Thanks.” My hands are full of candy, my attention more on this package, which had a little weight to it, than on him. By the time I pull away a piece of plastic draped across the top of the box inside he's already walking back out the door.
“We got a PS5!” screams one of my kids, I’m too mute with surprise to note which one.
My kids had a good Christmas, I like to think, but this is a princely gift. Looking over the heads of my family and the curious people around us, I see him getting into a truck in the parking lot. I began crazily waving at him through the front glass. He just waves back as if to say “no big deal’ and drove out of sight.
Blinking back two pinprick tears at the corners of my eyes, I look around the store.
You see these exploitative videos online all the time, an influencer doing some kind of giveaway or kindness and filming people’s reactions. I looked around, but didn't see anyone with a camera or phone in hand. We live in Southeast Georgia where getting online likes through video charity isn't terribly common.
This was old school generosity, the way I was taught about it as a kid. A good deed done anonymously for no other reason that the goodness of the giving.
I might even be cheapening the whole thing by writing about it, but I tell my children it is a good world, a magical world, if you let it be one, and this seems something like proof. How could I not write about it?
Random goodness. It can’t be rationalized or logically understood, just felt and embraced emotionally. That jaded part of my mind, the responsible, cautious father part of me, kept looking for the hook in the bait, and for one of those few miraculous times in life— there was no catch.
My oldest daughter did a video call the other day to show her friend she wasn’t just making up some wild story. I understand. It does seem unbelievable. I'm still blown away.
Whoever and wherever you are, sir, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
