Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was this gorgeous gal from the North Shore who was engaged to an even more gorgeous guy from the heart of the city. The guy’s name was Harris and he came from a very wealthy family – actually, both kids did.
Anyway, Harris’s parents wanted him to grow up appreciating the value of a buck just like they did, so they treated Harris like all the rest of his inner city pals, even to the point of encouraging him to “work his way through college.”
Harris went to UCLA on a swimming scholarship, and even though he really didn’t need the money, he got a job at one of the most exclusive jewelry stores in all of Beverly Hills, 90210.
Now, Harris’s boss was a very wise man and he cautioned all his salespeople to treat everyone who walked through their front door like he or she was the King or Queen of Sheeba – no matter what they looked like or how they were dressed – always taking extreme care to give their clientele the utmost in customer service. Thus, the store’s distinctive reputation was known far and wide throughout the whole land.
One day, at Christmastime, this guy walks in to the jewelry store and strides right up to our friend, Harris, for help.
The new customer wore an old, faded sweatshirt inside out with the sleeves ripped off, one of those fishing hats, brim down, with fishing flies studding random sections of the sweat band, immaculately tailored and pressed faded blue denim cutoffs, perfectly manicured nails, and a two-week growth of old beard.
After the two men exchanged pleasantries, the guy gets down to business and has Harris pull several things out of the showcases so he can inspect them closer.
“These diamond earrings – here,” he points. “That emerald bracelet – there, and the sapphire and diamond necklace from over on the end – will do for starters.”
After selecting several more pricey items, it comes time for the guy to settle up, so he tells Harris he’d like to pay by check.
Harris’s boss’s customer service advice about treating everyone with the same respect, no matter what they looked like, rang instantly in his ears.
Swallowing hard, Harris tells the guy, “I’ll have to have the manager approve your payment, sir, and would you like all your purchases gift-wrapped?”
The guy shoots Harris a smile and says, “No problem, but put ‘em all in separate bags,” and he writes out the top check of a lone pack – no checkbook jacket or register – just the solitary wad of curled-up edged checks.
When the guy tears the check off the stack and hands it to Harris, he glances down to find the new fly-fishing customer standing right before him is none other than Howard Hughes.
So, it just goes to show ya that you can’t ever judge a checkbook – even when it has no cover.
