One of the qualities that most people admire in others is the willingness to admit ones mistakes. It is extremely hard sometimes to say a simple thing like I was wrong about that, and it is even harder to say, I was wrong , and you were right about that.
I had an experience recently with someone admitting to me that he had made a mistake fifteen years ago. He told me he had been the manager of a certain grocery store in the neighbourhood where I grew up, and he asked me if I remembered the egg cartons. Then he related an incident and Ibegan to remember vaguely the incident he was describing.
I was about eight years old at the time, and I had gome into the store with may mother to do the weekly grocery shopping. On that particular day, I must have found my way to the dairy food department where the incident tood place.
There must have been a special sale on eggs that day because there was an impressive display of eggs indozen and half-dozen cartons. The cartons were stacked three or four feet high. I must have stopped in front of a display to admire the stacks. Just then a woman came by pushing her grocery cart and knocked off the stacks of cartons. For some reason, I decided it was up to me to put the display back together, so I want to work.
The manager heard the moise and came rushing over to see what had happened. When he appeared, I was on my knees inspecting some of the cartons to see if any of the eggs were broken, but to him it looked as though I was the culprit. He severely reprimanded me and wanted me to pay for any broken eggs. I protested my innocence and tried to explain, but it did no good. Even though I quickly forgot all about the incident, apparently the manager did not.
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