The Folded Napkin – A TRULY HYPNOTIC STORY Which Will Motivate & Inspire…

A Friend of mine sent me this Truly Inspirational Story this morning,
it brought a tear to me eye and so I am sending it to you to look at
as I think it is also a great lesson for Hypnotists (as I’ll explain at the

end)

Dr. Jonathan Royle – Hypnotist – Circa 1990

Oh and before I share this story with you, be sure to READ

TO THE END as afterwards I will explain what A GREAT LESSON

THIS STORY IS TO HYPNOTIST’S and what you can learn from it..

The Folded Napkin … A Truckers Story

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring

Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would

be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally

handicapped employee and wasn’t sure I wanted one.

I wasn’t sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was

short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and

thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome.

I wasn’t worried about most of my trucker customers because

truckers don’t generally care who buses tables as long as

the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.

The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the

mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs

who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for

fear of catching some dreaded “truck stop germ” the pairs

of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think

every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with.

I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so

I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn’t have worried. After the first week, Stevie had

my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within

a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official

truck stop mascot.

After that, I really didn’t care what the rest of the

customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue

jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but

fierce in his attention to his duties.

Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place,

not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie

got done with the table.

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a

table until after the customers were finished. He would

hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot

to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was

empty.

Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus

dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the

table up with a practiced flourish of his rag.

If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker

with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job

exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to

please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow

who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer.

They lived on their Social Security benefits in public

housing two miles from the truck stop.

Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so

often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money

was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference

between them being able to live together and Stevie being

sent to a group home.

That’s why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning

last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie

missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve

or something put in his heart.

His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome

often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn’t

unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come

through the surgery in good shape and be back at work

in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that

morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in

recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress,

let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle

when she heard the good news.

Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared

at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four

doing a victory shimmy beside his table.

Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer

a withering look.

He grinned. “OK, Frannie, what was that all about?”

he asked.

“We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and

going to be okay.”

“I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him.

What was the surgery about?”

Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers

sitting at his booth about Stevie’s surgery, then sighed:

“Yeah, I’m glad he is going to be OK,” she said. “But I

don’t know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the

bills. From what I hear, they’re barely getting by as it is.”

Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off

to wait on the rest of her tables.

Since I hadn’t had time to round up a busboy to replace

Stevie and really didn’t want to replace him, the girls were

busing their own tables that day until we decided what to

do.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office.

She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny

look on her face.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I didn’t get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends

were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete

and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean

it off,” she said. “This was folded and tucked under a

coffee cup.”

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto

my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold

letters, was printed “Something For Stevie.

Pony Pete asked me what that was all about,” she said, “so

I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and

Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended

up giving me this.”

She handed me another paper napkin that had “Something

For Stevie” scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were

tucked within its folds.

Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head

and said simply: “truckers.”

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first

day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.

His placement worker said he’s been counting the days until

the doctor said he could work, and it didn’t matter at all

that it was a holiday.

He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he

was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his

job was in jeopardy.

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met

them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate

his day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn’t stop grinning as

he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room

where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

“Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast,” I said. I took him and

his mother by their arms. “Work can wait for a minute. To

celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother

is on me!”

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the

room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following

behind as we marched through the dining room.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of

grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped

in front of the big table.

Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner

plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded

paper napkins.

“First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,”

I said. I tried to sound stern.

Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled

out one of the napkins. It had “Something for Stevie”

printed on the outside.

As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking

from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or

scrawled on it. I turned to his mother.

“There’s more than $10,000 in cash and checks on table, all

from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your

problems. “Happy Thanksgiving,”

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody

hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.

But you know what’s funny? While everybody else was busy

shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big,

big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and

dishes from the table.

Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow. At this point, you can bury

this inspirational message or forward it fulfilling the need!

If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a

compassionate person.

HYPNOTIST’S CAN LEARN TON’S OF STUFF FROM THIS STORY….

Whilst I understand that this is a completely true story, it

does illustrate many of the key components to successful

Hypnosis..

*Its Captures the Attention and Imagination of the Reader

*It Draws you in emotionally and makes you focus on what

is going to come next..

*By the end of it you almost feel as though you are there

watching like a fly on the wall, arguably it changes your

perception of reality for a short time..

*It makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside…

I could go on and on but “Magic Stories” and how to use

them to have a deeply profound and positive emotional

impact on people for change work is something that is

covered in the NLP Training Section of our amazing

“Elite Hypnosis Bootcamp” Programme

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When you’ve clicked that “buy now” button pat yourself on

the back and feel all warm and fuzzy inside as when you’ve

studied the contents you’ll be able to HELP MORE PEOPLE

THAN YOU EVER DREAMED POSSIBLE in so many Positive ways..

And whats more you’ll be able to start earning more from

your Hypnosis Skills than you ever dreamed possible and so

when you meet your own “Stevie” in life, you’ll be in a

position to truly help out and feel warm and fuzzy inside

again.

Thats why I always say you’ve got be Selfish first in order

to be able to be totally selfless later…

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People Just Like Stevie from the story above are waiting

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Have A Great Day

Jonathan Royle
www.magicalguru.com

Award Winning Hypnotist Jonathan Royle