The Karma of Pizza

When I was in high school, I worked part-time as a cashier at a supermarket. One day a young boy came through my line with a chocolate bar. His total was maybe 35 cents, but the boy didn't have enough money, and not wanting to hold up the line I dug into my pocket for some change to make up the difference. As I was ringing up the next order, the customer complimented me for doing something nice for a stranger. I shrugged it off, partly because I was embarrassed but mostly because giving up a few cents didn't seem like a big deal. Months passed and I was walking in the annual March of Dimes Walk-A-Thon, which in those days was an all-day 26 mile trek around the entire city. There were check points along the route offering water and snacks, and it had just started raining when I reached the Shop City check point. My clothes were damp and my feet hurt, and while I hadn't been hungry up to that point the smell of pizza made me realize I was actually starving. Unfortunately the refreshment table was surrounded by walkers, and the dread of standing in line for who knows how long was stronger than my hunger. Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned to see a Walk-A-Thon volunteer offering me a paper plate with two giant slices of pizza on it. It was the customer who had seen me give a few cents to a boy who wanted a candy bar. People say karma is a bitch, but I think she's a kind-hearted woman who gives pizza to those who please her.