Chutzpah

Tom Dombrosky.

Hadn't thought about Tom in a while when the word "chutzpah" came up in a conversation.

I worked with Tom years ago. He loved describing chutzpah with this story:

On the corner near Tom's office in Baltimore, a elderly lady sold pretzels at a street stand. She charged $1.00 for a big, soft, salted pretzel.

Every day when he walked to lunch, he would pass the stand and pay her a dollar, but he wouldn't take a pretzel.

"I figured that if my grandmother was selling pretzels on the street, I'd appreciate someone making her day a little brighter." he would explain.

This almost daily routine went on day after day. Year after year. 

The two of them never spoke. 

One day as Tom passed the stand and left his dollar, the pretzel lady spoke to him for the first time in over 3 years: "They're a dollar-twenty-five now."

"Now that's chutzpah!" Tom would say as he slapped his hand on the nearest flat surface.

And he would laugh like he had just told the story for the first time.

And that laugh, along with his joy in telling the story, would make me laugh as if I had just heard the story for the first time, too.