Elevator musak, bustling shopping carts set the scene at the large grocery chain.
With basket in hand, I look quickly and scout what looks to be the lineup with the "Most Potential for Moving the Fastest" since there are less people in line and a savvier-looking cashier. I gleefully step up. Then I realize: up before me is a little old man who has about 5 items: boxy things, like cookies, canned things and some tea. I smile inwardly for a mo. As his turn comes I use the time productively by preparing myself mentally: tallying up how much my small list of stuff with come to, how to pay, from what account etc. Well.
The old man cannnot hear very well when the total is called to him. He has blue very watery eyes. His hands tremble as he pulls out his old wallet, he coughs a little as he struggles to open it. His eyes are pale blue, they squint a little in the light as he hands a bill to the cashier. She says something to him. He says, "Oh, sorry...I can't see if I have that. Can you please look for me." He slowly passes the cashier his wallet. Some folks in the lineup behind me are doing the three step shuffle at this point. I sigh a little then resign myself to remain here. "I've got time", I figure. I have a fleeting impulse to help him, but the cashier has already pulled out some change for him.
It is apparently not quite enough. He has to draw an item back. He sighs a bit. He dabs at his watery eyes with a small kerchief from his pocket. He assesses his groceries for a moment before pulling out the boxed thing (he does not part with the tea, I note). His hands tremble again as he receives the change back from the cashier. He coughs a little again. I try not to stare. My eyes drift to the happily-bustling customers at the other registers. In other lineups, people who were later than me are already paying and passing through. I am still standing there. I tell myself: I have a propensity for picking the 'wrong lineup'- having the George Costanza (from "Seinfeld") sense the of picking the 'opposite' of the right thing. It is like a "Gift" (and no, I haven't the receipt to exchange it...).
The old man gathers his bag. He is still somewhat tall and looks like he might have been a looker in his day. Now he is meek, he moves so slowly. As he leaves he takes from his jacket pocket a small kerchief and wipes his watery eyes a little before moving forth.
In a moment, in his presence, I see my impatient, go-go-go life, the fast-moving mentality of my generation, my punch-card timing sense of the moving world around me. It's all jack-rabbit paces and aggressive inner-races.
Maybe this man had showed me something more. He reminded me of how to be patient and how to tolerate and how to pull out of the race...and how to love another. Even a perfect stranger.
I decided I had picked the right lineup after all. As he left I watched him and secretly sent a small wish that he might find some company for drinking his cup of tea.
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