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Madam -
I have been coming to this grocery store for almost three years...and unless there is a super huge line, I always pick the same cashier. I like her. She may be a little loud, but she's vivacious and has a laugh that never fails to put a smile on my face. Children adore her. And if you give her a chance, she will do right by you every time.
She was not trying to offend you by saying, "Good morning, darling." She was greeting you.
But instead of returning her smile, you sneered...as if this middle-aged Armenian woman was beneath you.
She caught your attitude and switched her personality from friendly to professional. There was no snideness in the way she checked you out. And believe me, I've been in stores where you would have gotten a lot of *attitude* for your attitude.
When she tried to hand you the coupons the computer printed off, you sneered at her again as you left.
I'd like to tell you that you should treat people better, but I'll pass.
As I said, if you give her a chance, she'll do right by you. And I very much appreciated applying your five dollar coupon to my grocery bill.
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The business park my company resides in is guarded mainly by two security guards: a man, who works mornings; and a woman, who works evenings.
The man is very social. He nods and smiles when you wave to him. If you speed, he can be a stickler, but since I don't speed or break any of the business park's rules, we're golden.
The woman is a grouch. She never smiles, never waves. I've often wondered if she suffers from some sort of handicap because she sometimes looks like she's misshapen. She yells at people all the time, and is generally an unpleasant sort. But again, since I don't break the park's rules, I really haven't had any interactions with her (I have a vague recollection of her yelling at me last year, but I don't remember why).
The man is on vacation this week and so the woman is working days and a different man is working nights.
Our VP of Programming has been courting food trucks this summer as a way to keep people from having to go out and deal with all the construction around us. So far, I think I've tried every truck, although I haven't been overly impressed with any of them, except the Shaved Ice truck, which I adore.
Word has gotten out and people from neighboring buildings have been coming over when the trucks park. Today, I went out and had to stand in line for shaved ice, not from people from our building, but from other buildings (which is fine, but made me pouty).
As I was waiting for my root beer dream (nom nom), the female guard showed up. She frowned at the truck and said, "I didn't know anything about this."
And I sighed inwardly. It was bad enough that it was over a hundred degrees outside, I was praying she wasn't going to make a big deal out of the truck being parked behind the building, but prepared myself to go get the VP if things turned ugly.
But as she stood frowning at the truck, I noticed her frown slowly begin to disappear and her lips start to turn upwards ever so slightly.
As an aside, I studied her for a moment and realized the reason she looked lopsided was because she was wearing a bullet proof vest. While the park itself is isolated and fairly safe inside the gates, we are in a not-so-nice part of town (not sure if you remember my talking about two hostage situations in the area earlier this year). No wonder she's always cranky. Poor thing has got to be hotter than the blazes, but I don't blame her for a moment for wearing a vest.
And as I watched, her face slowly transform into a huge smile of anticipation and she actually went up onto her toes as if unable to contain her happiness.
I can't help but think I've done her an injustice. She's no longer a nameless, cranky, misshapen woman, but a woman who enjoys shaved ice on scorchingly hot days.
Nothing earth-shattering has happened. She's still going to be cranky tomorrow and will no doubt still be yelling at folks all the time. But today I saw her as one of God's beloved people and that has made all the difference in the world.
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Name: Dolimir
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BRAVE ENOUGH TO SHARE A PRIVATE BOX OF DREAMS
by Erma Bombeck
When I slit open the envelope, a photocopy of a check for $5 fell out. The note with it was simple and direct, "I made this from my poem entitled, "Youth". Thanks for encouraging me."
Five bucks! What can you buy with $5 these days? A pint of designer ice cream? One rose? A home furnishings magazine? A pair of pantyhose? Four gallons of gas?
If you're Sarah, who lives in Louisiana, it can buy euphoria, with side orders of pride, hope and self-esteem and the discovery someone was willing to put a price on your talent.
There's a lot of Sarahs out there. . .women who keep their dreams in a private little box hidden from the rest of the world. Occasionally, they take the lid off and look at it just to know it's still there and then get on with their business of living.
It takes a lot of courage to show your dream to someone else. They might laugh. They might not understand. Worse, they might take it out of the box and drop it and where would you get another one? Dreams are fragile, you know.
Some people in desperation, give up on dreams. They clean house one day and decide, "This is ridiculous! I'm acting like a small child who refuses to give up a favorite toy." So, they toss out the contents of the box - the short story, the idea for a business, the college degree, the job they would love to have, the child they want, the trip they would love to take.
Then there are a few, like Sarah, who are willing to take a risk.
They take the dream out of the box, put it on and start living it. They lay bare their ego to discover if they are equal to the dream or if they are equal only to the fantasy.
Dreams have only one owner at a time. That's why dreamers are lonely. No one can help them with the struggle. No one can ease the pain of failure. There are some things they have to do themselves.
I understand the fears and apprehensions of the closet dreamers, but oh how I admire the Mother Teresas, the Geraldine Ferraros, the Samantha Smiths, the Christa McAuliffes, the Helen Kellers and, yes, the Sarahs who write poetry on the kitchen table at night. Are they winners? Winning is not what they're about. Neither are the rewards.
What is special about them is they're dreamers who put it on the line. They had the courage to admit that what they wanted was just beyond their reach, but if they wanted it badly enough -
anything was possible.
They gambled. And for the risk, they were all rewarded with a legacy for others to follow. For some it was a trail that was blazed, an attitude that was changed, a place in history, a thought, a life that was touched.
That's the difference between them and those who never take their dreams out of the box. They leave nothing.
OUT IN THE FIELDS WITH GOD
By Anonymous
The little cares the fretted me,
I lost them yesterday,
Among the fields above the sea,
Among the winds at play,
Among the lowing of the herds,
The rustling of the trees,
Among the singing of the birds
The humming of the bees.
The foolish fears of what might pass,
I cast them all away
Among the cover-scented grass,
Among the new-mown hay,
Among the hushing of the corn,
Where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born –
Out in the fields with God.
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Earlier Whispers 
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