"You always say that."

"Hi, how are you?"

"I'm having a great day! How are you?"

"You always say that."

Mister?

You say it like an accusation, like you've caught me, red-handed, like there's something I'll confess. You're shoving it in my face, like you've won a prize. "Congratulations! You found the Easter Egg on the DVD! You found the ring in the cereal box! You got up in the face of the little cashier!"

What do you expect?

Today I woke up with my guts tied in knots missing someone I won't see today. My blood sugar is low because I've been at this register for four hours without eating, and that means I'm very tired. A guy dropped a 12-pack on my pinkie finger, and it still smarts. And you are not the first randomly uncongenial person I have met today.

But I made a decision 8 months ago, and I stand by it.

When I took on this job, I made the call that you were more loved than you were mean, you were more important than you were troublesome, and no matter what happened while I took care of your food and counted your change and handed you your receipt, you were worth being cheerful for.

Not because you deserve it; you don't. Because you're worth more than you deserve.

I made the decision that any day taking care of you was a great day. Even this one. And every moment I spent here I was glad to. And I'm glad to be here now.

I meet your eyes. "I do always say that. It's true." I hand you your receipt. "Thank you for shopping with us."