THE FREE BREAKFAST
By Gil Gevins

Dorothy and Gerald Glutz of Mule Lip, Arkansas had suffered a run of extraordinary bad luck. Most mortals, buffeted thus by wave after wave of undiluted misfortune, would most likely have crumbled.
But not the Glutzes.

Imbued with a deep faith in the goodness of human nature and an optimism so pure it bordered on the pathological, the Glutzes went merrily about their business, blissfully immune to the very notion of despair. Even as they approached mandatory retirement age, the tall rain-thin couple, by some arcane act of grace, managed to cling courageously to the belief that life was a miraculous gift. And for that gift, despite their recent spate of woes, they were sincerely and profoundly grateful.

“The Glutzes may give,” Dorothy had said repeatedly, “but they don’t give in.”
“Everything,” Gerald had proclaimed more than once in his slow careful drawl, “always works out for the best, as long as you maintain a positive mental attitude.”

This all but surreal confidence in the beneficent workings of the cosmos was the reason the Glutzes were not surprised when, at the apparent nadir of their misfortune, they had unexpectedly won an almost-all-expenses-paid vacation to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

The Glutzes were modest folk and had never stayed in anything remotely resembling a luxury hotel before. Upon checking into their room, they experienced several moments of confusion. The paper seal over the toilet had them especially disconcerted.

Gerald and Dorothy stood holding hands and staring down at the wide band of paper for almost two minutes, wondering what it was all about. “I’m really not sure dear,” Gerald finally told his wife. “On the one hand, it might just be an advertisement. On the other hand, it could be the WC’s out of order.”

The following morning the Glutzes, who had exactly one hundred dollars to their name, set off on foot in search of an inexpensive place to have breakfast. The hundred dollars had to last them for the entire week, which they were beginning to realize, was going to be nearly impossible. But again, unlike most folk, who would have felt at best disheartened by such a burden, the Glutzes felt cheerful and resolute, like Stanley and Livingston off on some great adventure.

Walking hand-in-hand along the malecon, wearing a pair of ancient pith helmets they had acquired for next to nothing at the Mule Lip Salvation Army, the Glutzes did indeed look like a pair of retired explorers as they marveled at Puerto Vallarta’s exotic beauty.

“Look at that ocean!” Dorothy exclaimed. “I bet it’s just full of fish.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least, dear,” Gerald drawled.

Checking the menus in several restaurants as they ambled happily down the street, the Glutzes were a little surprised by the prices, which in many cases were considerably higher than those back home in Mule Lip.

“Look’s like we’re really going to have to tighten our belts,” Gerald, who loved a good challenge, said with relish.
“I’m sure we’ll manage just fine,” Dorothy beamed back at him.

Three menus later, as they walked valiantly past a small booth carved into the façade of a restaurant, a hyper young man bounced out and wished them a hearty good morning. The Glutzes, polite to a fault, stopped in their tracks and wished him one back. The active young man, whose name was Ricardo, asked the Glutzes if they’d like to attend a free breakfast.

“A free breakfast? Sounds tempting,” Gerald replied coyly.
“Also,” Ricardo said, “you get to tour my beautiful resort. Then, when you’re done, we give you one-hundred and fifty dollars in cash!”
Gerald, who despite his trusting ways was no fool, felt compelled to ask, “But…but what do you want from us in return?”
“Just your time,” Ricardo replied happily.
“Well, we’ve lots of that, don’t we dear,” Dorothy said.

At the Pacific Surf And Turf Beach and Country Club, the morning sales meeting had just reached its tumultuous conclusion. Bob Schultz, the short stocky sales manager, momentarily winded by his intense over the top effort to fire up the troops, took a long deep breath and threw his chalk unerringly into a wastepaper basket clear across the room.

Bob Schultz (known behind his back as “Spot”) was not particularly popular with his crew. Every time he left the sales room the place would echo with derisive remarks:
“Where’s Spot?”
“In the men’s room, marking his territory.”
“Has he had his rabies shot this month?”
“Maybe we should all chip in and have him neutered.”
His third ex-wife claimed that Bob secretly modeled himself after Robert DeNiro, in the movie Cape Fear.
“Be positive!” was Bob’s mantra; “Zero tolerance for negativity!” his golden rule. And so, it seemed a little strange when moments after the meeting ended, he called over one of his salesmen and said to him casually:
“David, just so you know. Your job’s hanging by a thread.”
David, a blond ex-surfer who, if the truth be known, had probably “wiped-out” one time too many back in Oahu, said, “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Bob said in his gravelly New York voice, “you’re dead weight. You haven’t had a sale in two weeks. I get more production out of my bladder. You get a deal today, or you walk.”
“Gosh, give me a break, Bob,” David pleaded. “It’s just a short slump. Anybody can have a run of bad luck.”
“Did I hear someone say the word slump?” Bob asked in astonishment, his black beady eyes boring into David’s with all the tenderness of a Nazi drill instructor. “Did I hear someone being…negative?” he added sadly, cupping his ear as he pretended to scan the room.
“I’m getting you a sale today,” David announced with conviction.
“Good boy,” Bob said. “Just remember: stay positive.”
“Right.” David walked briskly off to the model where he spent several minutes staring into the mirror and mentally repeating to himself a series of “affirmations” he had found in a book entitled: I AM the World’s Greatest Salesman.

Though once upon a time David had made a great deal of money, lately his luck had not been so good and now he found himself on the very brink of financial ruin. David had considered the situation from every possible angle, but could see no way out of his dilemma. Not with the enormous balloon payment coming due on his luxurious home in Conchas Chinas, plus the two cute kids in private school and the scorchingly beautiful young wife whose charge cards were never out of touch for long with the exquisitely manicured fingers of her deft and seductive hands.

After seventy-five affirmations, David’s entire face, as he looked in the mirror, radiated utter self-confidence—except for his eyes, which looked much like those of a deer caught in the headlights of a car.
Elena, whose job was to have breakfast with her clients, take them on a tour of the property and explain to them the benefits of a membership in the Pacific Surf and Turf Beach and Country Club, had never seen two elderly people with such an enormous appetite. Plate after plate of food simply vanished before her astonished eyes.

“This is unreal,” Elena thought to herself, staring in wonder at the Glutz’s mouths. “It’s like the Bermuda Triangles, or something.”
“That’s about the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten in my life,” Gerald Glutz said when the carnage was finally complete.
“What did you say you call that orange fruit, dear?” Dorothy asked Elena.
“It’s called a papaya,” Elena said.
“Well, I’ll be!” Dorothy exclaimed.

A short while later Elena and the Glutzes found themselves sitting in a large room filled with tables and chairs. Elena, her job nearly done, put on her best smile and said, “So. How do you like the club?”
“It sounds wonderful,” Dorothy replied. “And I must say, you’ve done a marvelous job explaining it to us.”
“Thank you,” Elena said. “So. If we could make it affordable for you, do you think you’d like to become members?”
The Glutzes looked at each other and began to giggle.
“Who wouldn’t?” Gerald finally drawled.
“Why, of course, dear,” Dorothy agreed.
“So. I’m going to call over one of our club’s financial directors,” Elena explained, “and he’s going to help you join the club.”
“How nice,” Dorothy said.

While Elena was gone, Dorothy turned to Gerald and said, “What nice young people they have here. So friendly and polite.”
“It’s just like I always say,” Gerald slowly intoned, “once you get to really know a person, it always turns out that the good outweighs the bad.”

A blond, well-built man in his early thirties approached the table and introduced himself. “I’m David Smith,” he said. “I’m your financial director.”
“Gerald and Dorothy Glutz,” Gerald said, standing up and shaking the young man’s hand.
After the men had resumed their seats, David asked, “Do you mind if I call you Gerald and Dorothy?”
“I don’t see why not,” Gerald said affably.
After several minutes of idle chatter David leaned into the table and said confidentially, “I’m going to help you two save a lot of money.”

The Glutzes exchanged a knowing look. Just one more proof, they were both thinking, of how everything, if you kept your hearts and minds open, always works out for the best.
“All I ask you,” David went on, “is that you keep an open mind.”
“Of course, dear,” Dorothy said.
“Now,” David said, “let me ask you a question: how much money is this vacation costing you?”
“Well, so far,” Gerald Glutz said, “we’ve spent seventy-five cents.”
“I beg your pardon?” David said.
“That’s how much we tipped the bell boy,” Dorothy Glutz explained. “Do you think we overdid it?”
Nonplussed, David asked nervously, “What about your hotel? And your airfare?”
“Oh, that was all taken care of,” Gerald said. “You see, we won the trip.”
“I filled in a little form on the back of a milk carton,” Dorothy said, “and a month later they sent us a letter. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes, it certainly…is,” David said without enthusiasm. “But, of course,” he went on, rallying quickly, “you don’t win a vacation every year, do you?”
“No,” Gerald said, “and we wouldn’t want to, either.”
“What do you mean?” David blurted out. “Why not?”
“Well, that wouldn’t be very fair to all the other people filling out those milk cartons, would it?” Gerald said.

David, seriously disoriented now, plunged uncertainly on. “Well, let me ask you something: how much money have you spent on vacations over, say, the last twenty years?”
“Not a dime,” Gerald said proudly. “This is the first vacation we’ve ever taken.”
“Oh.”
“But we’d love to take another one,” Dorothy said. “This is so much fun.”
“Right,” David said, “that’s exactly my point. Now, let me ask you this: since you’re going to take more vacations, does it make sense to you to do it as a member of our club?”
“Well, yes,” Gerald Glutz said thoughtfully. “Taking into account all of the wonderful benefits that Elena showed us, it would make a great deal of sense.”
“So,” David said with mounting enthusiasm, “if I could make it affordable for you, would you like to join?”

The Glutzes looked at each other and began to giggle again.
“What’s so funny?” David demanded.
“Well,” Gerald Glutz chuckled, “if you could make it affordable for us to join your club, they’d have to put you right up there with Moses.”
“Moses?”
“I don’t know, dear,” Dorothy told her husband, “parting the Red Sea might have been easier.”
“Oh, I get it. You probably think that our memberships are so expensive that you’d never be able to afford one. Well, I’ve got news for you; we have fantastic financing plans! Tell me, if you don’t mind, what’s your annual income?”
“Right now,” Gerald Glutz said in his slow steady drawl, “I’d say, for all intents and purposes, about zero.”

“What?” David asked, unable to disguise the note of desperation in his voice.
”Well, you see,” Gerald explained, “Dorothy and I owned a small general store back in Mule Lip for, what was it, almost thirty years. We never got rich from it, but it paid the bills and we were grateful for that.”
“Amen,” Dorothy said.
“Then, about five years ago they opened up one of those Wal-Mart places just down the road in Dear Lick. Well…”
“Wait a minute,” David said. “You’re telling me that you live in a town called Mule Lip, and down the road from you there’s a town called Deer Lick?”
“Yes, it’s farm country down our way so we kind of tend to rustic nomenclature,” Gerald Glutz explained. “Nothing but small towns with a lot of pretty country in-between. Of course, Deer Lick is quite a bit larger than Mule Lip. That’s why they put the Wal-Mart in there. And then, down the road from Deer Lick, oh, about twenty miles or so, there’s a town even larger still, Hog’s Breath. Now, Hog’s Breath, Arkansas, I would estimate, must be pushing almost fifteen thousand people in population by now. You see, Hog’s Breath has a paper factory with plenty of jobs, whereas Mule Lip and Deer Lick…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” David said impatiently. “I get the picture.”
“You were wandering again, dear,” Dorothy pointed out to her husband.
“Yes,” Gerald laughed, “I do have a tendency to meander—verbally, that is. So, as I was saying, Wal-Mart came in and our little business just went straight downhill. Things got so bad, we couldn’t keep up with our bills anymore. So then, when the fire hit us…”
“F-fire?” David said, gagging on the word.
“Yes,” Gerald explained with perfect equanimity, “almost two months ago today, our store burnt to the ground. Along with our house--we lived upstairs, you see. More convenient, that way.”
“And more economical,” Dorothy added pointedly; the young man was after all a financial director.
“We’d fallen two months behind,” Gerald drawled on, “in our insurance payments by then, to Mutual of Des Moines—I still think they do the best job, all things considered. So we were pretty much wiped out financially. In fact, the hundred dollars we brought along with us for expense money, we had to borrow from my brother Harry. He works at the paper factory in Hog’s breath…”

No, no, no! David thought to himself miserably, this can’t be happening! But then, remembering one of his favorite affirmations (“When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”), he forced a strained but hopeful smile onto his face and said, “But you do have a credit card, don’t you?”
“Well, in a manner of speaking.”
“The reason I’m asking,” David explained, “is that if you have an 01 or 02 international credit rating, I still might be able to qualify you for a club membership.”
“International credit rating?” Dorothy laughed. “I can’t imagine we have one of those. We’re hardly jet-getters, you know.”
“Well, it never hurts to ask,” David said. “May I see your card?”
Gerald Glutz fished out his wallet, which appeared to be of World War II vintage, slipped out the card and handed it to David. “I don’t think…” Gerald Glutz began.

“I’ll be right back,” David said, hopping out of his chair.
“That poor young man,” Dorothy told her husband. “He wants so badly to help us.”
“Yes,” Gerald agreed sadly, “I’m afraid the boy is in for a big disappointment. Maybe I should have explained to him about the card.”
“But he didn’t give you a chance, dear, rushing off that way.”
“That’s your youthful enthusiasm for you,” Gerald said. “Can’t fault a young man for that.”

A few minutes later, David returned to the table, grinning like a man who has just won the lottery. “Congratulations!” he said. “You’ve got an 02 international credit rating.”
“We do?” Dorothy said.
“That means you’ve qualified,” David said, holding out his hand. “Welcome to the club!”
Gerald and Dorothy took turns warmly shaking David’s hand.
“Gosh,” Gerald Glutz said, “wait till I tell the folks back in Mule Lip.”
“Now,” David said, “if you’ll just get started on this application, we’ll have you enrolled in no time.”
“Sounds great,” Gerald said, picking up a pen.

“Oh, Mr. Smiiiiith?” a sweet gravelly voice called out. “May I see you in my office for a minute, please?”
“Excuse me,” David said, “I’ll be right back.”
Bob Schultz had a small office in the back of the sales room, which had, at considerable expense, been completely soundproofed by a team of experts flown in especially from Orlando, Florida.
David strode confidently into the office and closed the door behind him.
“So, how’s it going?” Bob asked agreeably.
“Great, Bob. Looks like I’ve got a deal. It may be a small one, but…”
“I see,” Bob said. “And how do you propose to get the down payment?” he asked reasonably.
“On the card, of course. They’ve got a Visa.”
“Did you look at the card?” Bob asked patiently.
“Yeah, sure.”

Suddenly, as if the invisible fuse sticking out of his bald head had burned down to the powder, Bob exploded, a sizzling stream of profanities gushing from his mouth like gobs of verbal lava. “Do you have any idea what you have done?” he screamed between obscenities.
“W-w-what?” David stuttered, a metallic taste upon his tongue.
“Are you blind?” Bob shouted with outrage. “Have you suffered a blow to the head recently?”
When David did not reply, Bob screamed, “Answer me!”
“No,” David replied meekly, “I’m not blind.”
“And…”
“I…haven’t suffered a blow to the head recently.”
“Well,” Bob demanded, lowering his voice a decibel or two, “then tell me something: are we on the same page?”
“The same page?”
“Yes, the same page.”
“I’m not sure,” David said, “what you’re…”
“You’re not sure!” Bob screamed. “You’re not sure if we’re on the same page!”

David had absolutely no idea what Bob was talking about. But somehow he knew instinctively that being on the same page with Bob was the way to go. “Sure, Bob,” he said quickly, “we’re on the same page. Absolutely. Same exact page.”
At that moment the phone rang. Bob picked it up.
“Hi baby,” he said, his voice going soft and cuddly. “Sure, sure I can. Did you want snapper or bass? Okay. I’ll see you at home.”
Bob hung up the phone and turned to face David.

“You moron!” Bob screamed, spraying saliva like a sprinkler all over David’s face. “You gave an 02 credit rating to someone with an expired card! A card that expired four years ago! I’ve been in this business for a long time, and I’ve never seen anyone do anything that stupid! “You are a disgrace to the industry!”
“Well, maybe,” David said sheepishly, “they have another card.”
“That would be nice,” Bob said. “Or maybe they’ve got three grand stashed in their socks.”
“No,” David said nervously, “I don’t think cash is an option in this particular instance.”
“Well then, get out there and get another card—one from this century!” Bob thundered.
“Right.”

The Glutzes were assiduously working over their application form, wondering whether or not their power lawn mower qualified as an asset, when David returned to the table.
“Say folks,” he said, “it looks like there’s been a small mix-up. The card you gave me, ha, ha, expired, ha, ha, several years ago.”
“Yes, I was going to tell you,” Gerald said, laughing as well, “that I just keep it as a memento. We haven’t had any credit in years, have we dear?”
“That’s right,” Dorothy said, laughing as well, as if losing one’s credit was something fun, like playing bingo.
“So,” David said, his eyes glazing over, “I guess that means you don’t have another credit card--a valid one, I mean.”
“No,” Gerald said, we don’t. “Is that a problem?”
“No, no problem,” David mumbled forlornly. “Excuse me, please.”

Moving like a zombie, David turned slowly around and walked out of the Pacific Surf and Turf Beach and Country Club salesroom. Then he drove home, sold his house at a huge loss, moved his family up to Detroit and went to work for the next twenty years in his father’s dry cleaning business.
The Glutzes, meanwhile, spent a marvelous seven days in Puerto Vallarta. In the course of that splendiferous week they managed to consume nine free breakfasts, acquire six bottles of free Kalua, and accumulate over one thousand dollars in free cash--after expenses.

“That Elena sure hit the nail on the head,” Dorothy told her husband as they sat holding hands on the plane home.
“How’s that, dear?” Gerald asked.
“When she said that the smart people, the ones who got ahead in life, took a vacation every year.”
“Well, dear,” Gerald said, “you just keep filling out those milk cartons, and I’m sure you will.”