Sally is a successful VP in a prestigious bank. But she is high-strung being the “troubleshooter” at the bank. She dips her fingers into any crisis and solves it instantly, that is why she is called “Trouble Shooter Sally” or “Shooter Sally” for short.
She is only 40 but is thinking of retiring early. The bank, however, will not let her since it will be hard put to find a replacement. Then there is her fear of dying of boredom if she shifts suddenly from storm to calm. She is in tears, sitting alone on a Central Park bench, contemplating her next move because she cannot take it anymore. Along comes Jimmy, also 40, but a bum, noticing her tears.
JIMMY: Hey, lady, tears do not match your pretty dress. (Sally ignores him). May I sit?
SALLY: No, you may not. Leave me alone.
Jimmy sits anyway and, by sheer instinct, knows Sally’s predicament.
JIMMY: From your uniform, I would say that you work at First National Bank on 5th Avenue, right? And from your tears, I would say you are a high-strung executive.
SALLY: Leave me alone, or I’ll call a cop.
JIMMY: I used to work there as a VP, a troubleshooter for crises.
SALLY: I don’t believe you.
JIMMY: I in fact saved the bank from bankruptcy.
SALLY: Oh, you’re that guy.
JIMMY: The papers wrote a fake news story perpetrated by a rival bank that First National had an executive who stole $600 million. I was the suspect. The next morning, a bank run was in progress. There was an angry mob outside, waiting for the bank to open. I told the president I ordered a mountain of cash stacked all over the counter two feet high. No one could see the tellers. When the doors opened, the angry mob froze upon seeing the piles of cash. I told them to fall in line and everyone would be serviced. Slowly, the crowd vanished.
SALLY: Brilliant. Why did you resign, and why are you now a bum?
JIMMY: I was a hero. But I depended on drugs to help me handle the stress. I became a meth addict and they threw me out. End of story.
SALLY: When you left, I was hired to replace you. I don’t do drugs. How will I survive?
JIMMY: I became an alcoholic and slept on the streets of the Bowery. I met this priest who worked with alcoholics. He became my guru. But too late the hero, I had no more job.
SALLY: So what did he teach you?
JIMMY: I will tell you only if you hire me.
SALLY: I need a guy to teach me how to handle angry customers. Okay, you’re hired.
So, (trouble) Shooter Sally and (drug) Shooter Jimmy met every day at Central Park for Sally’s lessons on how to cope. She brought deli salami on rye and Dr. Pepper for their lunch.
JIMMY: (Starting the “lesson”). You have an INNER SANCTUM, an inner garden inside you, whether you like it or not. It was there all the while since you were born. You just don’t know it, or you have not discovered it yet. The Lord trims your garden for you, keeping the weeds out, and nurturing the flowers, because He knows your life depends on it. In that inner garden, you have a bench to meditate, pray and discuss your problems with the Lord.
The nice thing about your garden is — it is mobile. It can follow you wherever you go by sheer mental effort. So, when you are in heavy traffic, enter your inner garden and sing. In your snake-pit office, enter your inner garden, even for just 3 minutes, and smile at the snakes. You will notice that you gain calm and strength from your Gardener.
Once, a nurse caring for a cranky old man was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he screamed insults at her every day. Then a pastor told her, “Hurt is a product of your will reacting to hurt, but you cannot be hurt.” She learned to smile whenever he shouted or insulted her. Later, they became the best of friends.
Shooter Sally and Shooter Jimmy eventually got married and had five rowdy kids.
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