Today a lady hugged me for wishing her a happy birthday. I see her two or three times a week. I don't even know her name.
This evening, as I was running to the bathroom for my break, an elderly Latin man asked for help finding something for his wife. We combed through three sections of shelves, and when we found it, he beamed like the sun and hugged me too. Then I ran back to make sure I wasn't late.
6 months ago, a woman came through my line buying a cake. It was a triple chocolate tort, something stacked and gooey and iced. She was bright and cheery and smiling, and I exclaimed over her cake and asked what she was celebrating.
"Actually," she said, still smiling, "my stepson was found unconscious this morning. His wife got him to the hospital, and he died. Just died. He was thirty two years old. His four children are at my house. The oldest is eleven. I have no idea what to tell them. So...I'm buying cake."
She was still smiling. Her voice trembled with cheeriness, and she was smiling.
What do you say?
"I'm sorry," I got out. "I'll..." I didn't want to lose my job. I didn't want to get in trouble. But my heart bled, and there was only one thing I could say. "I'll pray for you."
Her face crumpled. She came around the cash register and hugged me. Then she took her cake and left.
That was the first time someone hugged me at the grocery store.
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