Chapter 4: Pay What It Costs

By eleven on Friday I had three trays of turkey chili on a folding table by the window, and a sign.

The sign said $6.00 A PLATE. INGREDIENTS ONLY.

Under it, in smaller letters, it said EXACT CHANGE PREFERRED.

I had not agreed to cater anything, but Cassidy had put my name on a sign-up sheet, and thirty-eight people had read it.

So I did what I do with any number: I priced it.

Chili was three dollars and sixty cents a serving, cornbread was a dollar forty, and the bowl and spoon were a dollar, which made six.

"Is this a joke?" asked one of the sales guys.

"It's a menu."

He looked at the sign for a while and then pulled out his wallet.

"Okay," he said. "Six bucks. This smells incredible."

I took the money.

It was a five and a one, a little damp from his pocket.

I held it for a second longer than I needed to.

"First time anybody's paid me for lunch," I said.

"What?"

"Nothing. Here's your bowl."

Then the line formed.

The intern paid and told me the cornbread was the best thing she had eaten all year.

The office manager paid and asked if I did birthdays.

Somebody from the third floor wandered in on the smell and paid, and had to be told this was a private party, and paid again for his friend.