Excuse Note

"Hi! Did you find everything you were looking for today?"

"No, and I want a note to my wife saying you don't have it, so I had to buy this cake-mix. :|"

I got a bit of receipt tape, which was the closest thing to letterhead I had, and wrote an apology confirming the absence of the missing grocery item. Midway through writing the grocery store's name at the bottom, I forgot how to write cursive. Hopefully his wife won't notice that I spelled the name wrong.

The Screaming Man at Register 4

Today a man came through register four, and started screaming. Not words, just screams. Waving his arms. I looked up from register two, and he looked back, and he had this huge smile on his face, psyched up as all get out.

A little older lady I took to be his mother grabbed his shirt and smiled. "He likes the music."

I wonder what the world would be like if everyone was that happy about Michael Buble.

Both Hands

Today I got to help a man who, guessing by the bandaged stumps, had just lost both of his hands.

He was a pleasant, solid kind of older gentleman. His little plum of a wife, sitting on the bench, waved and smiled and pointed me out as someone who could help him. He gestured with a hook on a bandaged nub and told me what he needed, said that he could show me where it was. As we walked there,  a rocking, hitching kind of gait said he was getting used to a prosthetic foot.

I did my job cheerfully and told him if he thought of anything else, please ask.

As I was getting carts in the lot, the two of them drove by and waved at me, called out "thank you!" I called back, "No, you're welcome! Thank you!" They looked confused. I hope they knew how loved and important they were.

How One Sells Ice Cream

Today working as a bagger, I was flagged down to help a gentleman who has previously been irrationally insulting to find ice cream. I explained the sale prices, and he grimaced. "Will you like me if I'm fat?"

I searched the bottom of my heart for something nice to say.

"I will like you exactly as much as I do now."

This is how one sells ice cream.

My Face is the Problem

Today a woman at the grocery store, full of compassion, said this:

"Oh, sweetheart. It's your face. Your face is offensive. That's why people don't like you. You can't help it. You should just apologize all the time. It's just your face."

Then she hugged me.

._.

Well, that's...a really horrible superpower.

The Cold War and the Latin Gentleman

There is a little older Latin American gentleman who comes through my line smiling hugely. Today he mentioned in conversation that he speaks Russian. I expressed admiration , and asked him where he learned it, and this is what he said.

"Oh, I fought in Cold War. I had to learn it to know my enemies. I interrogate people, they say 'I don't speak that language,' I say, 'Fine!,' speak Russian. Then they have to tell me everything. ^-^" He laughed. This was delightful to him.

"Now, Cold War is over. We are not great friends, but Russians not enemies. We make friends all over. Russian good for talking to people. The Cold War is over, but...people do not appreciate it. They think, 'We are free because we are America,' but that is not true. We are free because people fight. We are free because people bought it. And they do not appreciate this." He was still smiling, still twinkling. "I am glad to have been a part of this."

I thanked him. Soon people would line up, soon I would have to ring up someone else, but I got to ask, "Were you in the American military?"

"No," his eyes shone. "SECRET." His chest puffed out. He put a finger to his lips.

A woman came with a few dozen cans of cat food. He tipped his head and his eyes twinkled and we parted.

America is free because of some very strange people, and they seem to be the happiest ones.

Whisperers

Customers? Sometimes, you say things that you don't think I can hear.

Sometimes the things under your breath are mean.

You: How are you?
Me: I'm glad to be here!
You {whisper}: Yeah, right. They tell you to say that.

Sometimes you have a song floating under your mustache, and I don't let on that I can hear you singing along to the elevator track.

But sometimes there are moments when your broken heart is on your sleeve and I don't know how to help. Sometimes sadness is loud, like the lady who was belting out about her stepson's death, or today when that one little woman found out she had cancer, and she said it ever couple minutes.

"How are you today?"
"I'm sad. I found out I have cancer."

"Did you find everything you needed?"
"Yes. It was hard, because I'm sad because I was diagnosed with cancer."

"Would you like help out to your car?"
"Yes, please. I'm so stupidly weak because of the cancer."

Sometimes it's loud. Sometimes you need to be. But sometimes you still whisper.

Me: How are you?
You: Just wonderful!
Me: *continues conversation...*
You {whisper}: I'm lying.

Me: I hope your day gets better!
You {whisper}: I hope my life gets better.

Is it the same kind of need? The need to be noticed, to have pain acknowledged, to receive caring? Is that why you holler?

Is that why you whisper?

Even when you respond to my, "I'm sorry your stepson died," with a hand-wave and a loud, "Nah, it's natural," even when you downplay your suffering or reject acknowledgement that what's happened to you is wrong or hard, you need a voice. You need recognition. You need to be loved, whether or not you'll let on. Whether or not you know.

Please don't hold back. Don't worry about making other people sad. Let us share a little of the sorrow- you have so much, and we can take a little. We'll be okay.

Come through my line. If you need to whisper, it's okay. I'll hear you.