stEvN

stEvN
By Linda S. Cowls

On one of many trips to Las Vegas back in the ‘90s, I witnessed a most unpleasant little drama that was—even by Vegas standards—shocking.
Slowly walking from one casino to another, I was passing through a busy pick-up/ drop-off area, thick and noisy with limos, cabs, and rental cars. A happy couple approaches the huge, shiny golden doors that lead into the casino when a limo driver bounds up to them, hand outstretched, and says in a loud, condescending voice, obviously meant to embarrass: 
“Don’t forget your fifteen cents change!  Thank you very much, and have a nice day!”  He tips his hat with a flourish, as the stunned couple stands and stares, aghast.
“But—we gave you a three dollar tip!” the woman calls out helplessly as the driver jumps back into his limo to speed off in an indignant huff. 
Even over the din of honking horns and slamming doors, everyone milling about the crowded area clearly observed this floor show.  Even the doormen, who have seen it all, shot bemused glances at each other.
What particularly disturbed me about witnessing this incident was that both parties seemed most sincere. The driver was truly annoyed, the couple truly hurt and bewildered. Nothing about this scene made any sense, and I ended up filing it away in that part of the brain where such unexplained things “stick in the craw.”
And stick it did, like a piece of white lint on purple flannel, for several years.
It wasn’t until years later, while sleeping in on a cold, snowy Saturday morning—my drowsy mind hovering in that twilight Zen-like state between sleep and wakefulness—that the solution floated up to the surface, like a bubble in a glass of champagne.  As the pieces fell into place, I realized what must have actually happened so long ago.
What two numbers, separated by three, sound almost exactly alike?  Hhhmmmm… Six-nine?  No… Eight-eleven?  No way.  Nine-twelve?  Not likely. 
Then, as it hit me, I sat straight up in bed.  Ah-HAH!
Picture the scenario: a limo pulls up in front of a casino, passengers fishing for their money as the driver calls into the back seat, “That comes to stEvN dollars 85 cents.”
The couple hand him a ten and a single and say “keep the change,” honestly believing they’re giving him a $3.15 tip, then get out of the limo to play some slots and go on about their lives.  The driver, meanwhile, feeling both insulted at a perceived jibe and incensed at getting stiffed with a puny fifteen-cent tip, grabs a dime and a nickel and leaps out of his vehicle to put on his little performance.
Neither party realizes that, over the noisy cacophony of a busy casino entrance, what the passengers heard in the back seat sounded like “SEVEN eighty-five,” when what the driver really must have said was “TEN eighty-five.”
Thus all three people concerned—probably nice, normal people going about their business—found themselves upset and humiliated when that was never an intention on anyone’s part.  A true misunderstanding, a crossing of wires.  With neither party any more at fault than the other.  What a shame!
It reminds me of a woman who stopped speaking to a friend for weeks, all because she’d heard that she called her a “real bitch.”  (As it turns out, what I actually said was, “She’s a real peach.”) 
How many other hard feelings exist in the world today because of such misunder-standings?  Just thinking about it makes my brain hurt.
In the words of Mark Twain: Be careful when reading health books, or you may die of a misprint.