[I]t was a late-ish night in the Rogers Communications Centre (RCC). Alright, it was 5:30. In the middle of my class, I had a hankering for some Tim’s. Some Timmies. Some cheap, crappy, paper-bagged tea. Mmm. That’s the stuff.
I checked my wallet, hoping to find a toonie to pay upstairs in Kerr Hall. Cash only.
I found some nickels. I begged friends for quarters, and gathered enough change for a small tea.
I joined the line, the throng of students craving their Canadian warmth in a cup, their lovingly handcrafted donuts (so much better than Dunkin’; Americans don’t know what they’re missing).
And then, a voice. Loud and clear, it boomed from the heavens. The voice of God.
“We take Visa and debit.”
I froze. Tim’s? Upstairs? Visa and debit? Not just cash and OneCard? What cruel joke was this? Or what fantasy?
I raised my face to the heavens and stared.
“Sofie,” God began. “I have heard your prayers. I know how much you wanted Tim Hortons to take your Visa card. I know you don’t always have cash, Sof. You’re only human. Who carries that many loonies around, anyway? It’s unrealistic.”
I nodded. God got me.
“And you don’t always want to break a twenty, you know?” He continued. “But anyway, I heard your prayers. I know your deepest desire, Sofie. I know you.”
It was true. Since I started at Ryerson two and a half years ago, I had faithfully prayed every night beside my bed: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my cash to keep, and if I don’t die before I wake, I pray Tim Hortons my Visa to take. It had taken so long, but it must have worked, for here I was, on a Monday night, hearing the voice of God speak to me.
It was the most selfless thing I had ever prayed for.
Usually I pray for snow days, power outages, meteors—any excuse to skip work and sleep in. Prayers for me. But this time, I had prayed for others—we all, all of us students wanted Tim’s upstairs to take debit and Visa (and MasterCard). And I think God knew it—I wasn’t looking out for just me this time. I was thinking about everyone else, too.
“I know how much you care about other people, Sofie.”
God was right. I’m selfless as hell.
He continued: “So I decided to grant your prayer. Last night, I bequeathed my angel Gabriel to deliver a debit/credit machine to this Tim Hortons. All for you, and your friends.”
“The Immaculate Credit Card Machine,” I whispered. One day, Tim’s was virginal and empty, not taking cards and using few machines, assuming we were all cash-carrying Luddites who didn’t have a need for speed, and the next, it was a high-tech wizard, accepting Visa cards at the tip of a hat, brewing teas nonstop, pregnant with the invisible cash flow.
It was heaven, and I was thrilled.
“Oh, Lord!” I shouted up at the Kerr Hall ceiling. “You have answered my prayers and my calls! For this, I thank you!”
And then, my friends, I bent down and kissed the #blessed debit card machine right on the slot, because finally, finally, I didn’t have to carry change around with me, or walk in the cold all the way to the Tim Hortons on Victoria Street. Now I could just skip upstairs with my Visa card, and skip right down with a hot tea. Is this the real life? It is now. Thank you Tim Hortons, for making all my Ryerson dreams come true.