Nothing like seeing a breaking news banner with a story of a wildfire near my mom at an hour when it’s too late to call her since she’s far enough away from it anyway that I shouldn’t worry. But how close is that to my aunt. Breathe. Okay, so, this is what I was intending to write about:
We did a Trader Joe’s run. Saturday evening, lots of customers, lots of clerks, busy.
I’d never seen the one at my line before. Clearly she was new; my guess is that she’s a student on a summer job. She was trying to do it well–don’t smash the crushables, bananas go on top–but it didn’t come automatically yet, she had to pay attention to each task, and twice she rearranged an item to make sure it would get home safely.
She did a good job. I didn’t care that she took a little longer than some might. Everybody starts off young and new.
But clearly others had taken it out on her because she looked like if one more person said one more thing she was going to burst into tears. Still, she was gamely trying to greet customers pleasantly, as required, even if she couldn’t quite look at them right then.
Somehow there was nobody in line behind us yet as she handed me the receipt so a moment’s distraction wasn’t going to hurt. I told her, For customers with a crying kid? Or for whatever–happy birthday! as I handed her a hand knit brightly striped toucan finger puppet with a long black beak and crossed eyes.
Oh that’s so cute, she said, in a tone that felt to me like her pain exhaling away into the wind as she examined its tiny details while we wheeled the loaded cart and away.
That, that, I could do.