Once there was a man who came through my line every day buying a sandwich, without ever smiling.
He was older, with a mustache and a uniform with "Rupert" on the pocket, and he was the gloomiest man I had ever seen. Lots of people pass with their eyes averted and their mouths turned down, but even Rupert's eyes were glassy with sad. I wanted to help him. I just never could.
Then one day, he came to the register with a bag of shiny hard candy.
"Ah!" I chirped. I wrapped it. "Good choice! These are the best."
He mumbled, his eyes downcast and glassy. "Grumble grumble not good for you."
"Nooo!" I cried, the same line I'd used a dozen times. "Happiness is good for the soul!"
And then something happened that I still don't understand.
The man, Rupert, looked up. He smiled. He made a joke. He started laughing, big, manly chortling giggles. And then he started singing.
I was too much in shock to remember the song, but the picture of his face, lit up and the eyes engaged with mine and laughing, is plastered across my soul.
The Saddest Man Ever hopped and sprung out of the store, singing. And all I could think, as I scrambled for purchase on reality, was that I had absolutely nothing to do with it.
The next time I saw him at the grocery store, he was buying hard candy, and he was smiling.
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