No Need For Resolutions

Marty sat in his one-room efficiency apartment watching New Year’s Eve festivities on his second-hand TV. Every year some celebrity counted down the seconds before the Times Square Ball began its descent, signaling the start of a new year. For Marty, the ball drop, and a calendar he received in the mail from his insurance company, were the only things that marked the end and beginning of each year. His life remained the same no matter the day, the season, or the year.

When he first ventured out to start a life devoid of family and school friends, Marty felt he had set out on a grand adventure, a modern-day explorer setting a course that would lead him to fame and fortune. Success didn’t find him during the first year, or the second, third and fourth. At the beginning of each of those years, he resolved to advance his life, improving upon the dismal outcome of the previous year. During year five, Marty thought his life was about to improve when the state in which he lived increased the minimum wage to $15 per hour. The euphoria died quickly when the restaurant where he worked as a line cook reduced his hours to compensate for the increase in pay. His life remained static, his personality growing increasingly sullen as resolutions remained unfulfilled.

Year eight of Marty’s grand adventure found him once again watching the ball drop on TV. He stopped making resolutions several years back because he felt they were a waste of time. On New Year’s Day, he showed up for work only to find the doors locked—a notice attached read Out of Business. Not wanting to return immediately to his one-room cell, Marty stopped at a park and sat on the closest bench. Mind numbed by all the misfortune in his life, Marty gazed around the park, looking blankly at people enjoying their lives. That’s when Molly plopped down on the other end of the bench.

She looked to be slightly older than Marty, well-dressed, attractive, and totally exasperated. It didn’t appear that she even noticed him at first, but slowly looked in his direction.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I’ll move.”

“No, you’re fine,” he replied. “There’s plenty of room for both of us. You seem upset. Is there anything I can do to help? My name is Marty. What’s yours?”

“I’m Molly,” she replied, stifling a small giggle. “Marty and Molly, sounds like a silly romantic comedy. I’m afraid the only way you can help me is if you’re a chef. The catering company I hired for my dinner party tonight said they have a scheduling conflict and won’t be able to provide anyone to cook for my guests. My top clients have been invited and now I’ll have to cancel.”

“Actually, I am a chef,” replied Marty. “I’m not one of those fancy celebrity types, but I can certainly whip up something for a dinner party, and you’re in luck. I have no previous engagements for this evening.”

Molly thought for several minutes before answering, “I’m not much for rash decisions, but this is an emergency—you’re hired.”

They went back to her spacious townhome and Marty immediately went to work preparing the items she had previously purchased. All was ready as the guests arrived and the dinner was a great success. One attendee asked to meet the chef so he could thank him for such a delicious meal.

Molly brought Mr. Jameson back to the kitchen and made the introductions.

“Sir, I wanted to tell you personally that was the best meal I have had for a very long time. It rivaled anything my best chefs create. Who do you work for?”

Marty, surprised, stammered, “At the moment I’m between jobs.”

“Not any longer. If you’ll do me the honor of working at my restaurant, Che Elegant. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

“I have, and it is me who is honored, sir,” replied Marty.

The rest of the evening rushed by. On the walk home, Marty reflected on how his life had changed in one evening. He didn’t need to make resolutions, he just needed to be the best he could be.