Just a moment…

I shop locally at a big supermarket. Over the years, I’ve come to know who is a “regular” on staff. A favorite checker is Terri, who cheerfully greets each customer. She’s not only my favorite – lots of folks line up to go through her lane, passing up the Self Check area for a kind exchange. Terri will retire next year – and we’ll miss her.

The large supermarket chain hires “extras,” often developmentally disabled young people who stock shelves, bag groceries, and have a look out for stray shopping carts in the large parking lot. Over the years, I’ve come to recognize these workers, also, watching them grow in confidence, watching them exchange a word with the checker. Terri is friendly to them all.

Most of the time, these young people don’t look at me – at all. I am, after all, a white woman with white hair – old, old, old. “What could we have in common?” – they might think. Or rather: “what should I say?” They are comfortable with the checkers, though, carrying on quiet conversations with one another as they work. And although I like to be able to carry my groceries to the car without help, these day the rampant thefts in the city are a reminder to me to ask one of the young people to accompany me to my car. And when I shopped for more than I intended to buy that day last week – certainly more than my short shopping list! – I asked the tall young man I’d noticed many times before standing at the end of the checking line to walk with me to my car.

He walked slowly, and I walked beside him as he pushed the cart, silent. From time to time, I’d make a comment, or ask a question: “you’ve worked here a long time, haven’t you?” His answer: “yes.” We continued to walk in silence. As we neared my car, I popped the trunk before we arrived, and he and I together transferred the bags of groceries from the cart into the trunk.

As he turned away to walk back to the store with the cart, I said: “see you soon!” At that, he turned to me and asked: “when?” – I stopped short, then. “I’m not sure,” I said. He walked away.

I smiled as I walked to the driver’s side door and started the car. I smiled later when I told Jeff about the encounter. I smiled all day as I thought about that tall, hard-working, earnest young man. His presence was a gift in a city that is often unfriendly.

A gift in my day.