I came out of my favorite little sandwich shop in Burlingame this afternoon to see a meter man circling my car, punchpad in hand. The machine was already ticking, spewing forth the ticket that would set me back four times the cost of my sandwich, which I wasn’t convinced I wanted to eat anyway. “Oh!” I said. “Please, please!” Which is what I say every time I see a meterperson circling my car. I expected him to give me that condescending, all-powerful glare that is the province of meterpersons. But lo and behold, he just smiled slightly and said, “Okay, but you need to watch your meter closely.”

Thank you, meterman! I don’t know who you are or where you’re from or what possessed you to show such grace, but I’ll always remember you as the one who didn’t ticket me. You lovely, lovely man.

The exercise:
Write about a time when someone took mercy upon your wayward self. Then go forth and show mercy to someone who doesn’t entirely deserve it.