Our checker looked like she was shy of 20 and was extremely sweet, though she--understandably--appeared exhausted. The line behind me snaked across the store, and Megan was beginning to potty dance in the front of the cart. At long last, our final item was scanned, bagged and . . . cue the anticlimactic music . . . the computer system powering the register crashed.
It seemed like a highly audible mingle of sighs, clucks, and utterances that all equated to some variety of, "Oh, crap" arose from the shoppers behind me. For her part, Megan renewed her potty jig with extra vigor. I smiled at the cashier, who did her best to smile back, but we were both thinking the same thing. No, no, no. Our telepathic exchange got spiced up with a few silent expletives when a senior employee stopped by and casually tossed out, "Yeah, you'll have to see where you are when everything reboots. You might have to ring her up again."
Now the chorus line behind me went from guffawing to clearing out like a case of plague had been announced over the PA system. As they scattered to other lines, we were left alone--the crazed computer system, the barely 20-year-old tired cashier, the almost 37-year-old cranky shopper, and the four year old who was about to explode 20 feet from a public restroom. What next? Maybe the raptor from Jurassic Park would burst through the automatic doors and personally take a dump on the mixing bowls I hoped to inscribe as Christmas gifts.
Well, I was wrong on the raptor part. Instead, a manager came over and started chatting with the cashier. At first, I felt slightly annoyed. Nice for him to be cracking jokes with Ms. "Not Even 20" when I was wiped, dying for a Diet Coke, and about to be spritzed with preschool urine. After a few minutes, he turned his idle prattle to me--Had I seen the batteries on sale? The great thing about them was that they're in combo packages of both Double and Triple A! I think I looked at the poor guy like he had three heads. I also believe I mumbled a response along the lines of, "I just nearly spent $### here; I'm not looking to up the tab."
Despite my pessimistic sarcasm, the manager just smiled back at me and did something I often find myself incapable of . . . exuding pleasantness in the face of pissiness. He said he understood but just thought it was great that they sold combo packs of batteries since he and his wife were always looking for either one or the other. His kindness softened my hard, crusty edges a bit, and I asked him how long he had been at the store that day. He laughed, kind of rolled his eyes, and said he was working well into the wee hours and then returned at 6:00 AM. (It was now almost 6:00 PM.)
It hit me. This man, who had been on his feet far longer than I had--and who had dealt with far more insanity that had filled my day--had come over for no other reason than to be kind. To the 20-something who was on her last legs, to my crabby, crotchety self, and to my nearly-at-capacity daughter, whom he gave a sticker. He didn't have to, and it didn't erase the problem of the downed register (which DID, thank God for small wonders, resurrect itself). But the manager made a choice to be kind and, in doing so, kept us all just a bit more human.
I thanked him, thanked the relieved cashier who helped me place the rest of my bags in my cart, and was eventually back in my car. dashing my daughter toward the solace of her princess potty. As I did, however, I realized that there are moments where kindness is all it takes to help us rise to the occasion . . . to meet the challenges life throws at us head on. It's a lesson I'll probably need to think about more than once as I tackle my shopping list this holiday season. Honestly, however, it's wisdom that I should undoubtedly keep with me all 365 days of the year.
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