For months now, I’ve been avoiding a certain cashier in a store I frequent. There’s nothing wrong with him. In fact, he’s a nice young man. He just takes forever to check me out as he gets very sidetracked with his own conversations, which generally revolve around topics of which I have absolutely no knowledge or interest. My failing. Not his. I should probably broaden my horizons a bit.
Anyway, earlier this week, I was out shopping in this store, and when it came time for me to check out, I did as I usually do. I passed by his line and went to a neighboring cashier. Mind you, I don’t do this if he’s the one who has a significantly shorter line. That would be rude. But if all is relatively equal, I walk on by. And I did just that on this day.
Instead, I went to a woman about my age who talked about the same banal things I talk about in public, and, zippity quick, I was on my way. Except during my mindless chatter, I overheard this young cashier two lines over as he engaged a young boy with questions and stories and common interests. I listened as the young boy’s excitement grew to match that of the cashier and as the cashier brought forth shared joys. I watched as his mother enjoyed their conversations, no doubt a regularly anticipated highlight of her son’s week. It was remarkable.
It was at that point that I realized that this young cashier whom I try to avoid whenever possible is probably thrilled to see me walk on by and is likely more disappointed than I when he does see me in his line.
Nancy Wiley writes. 