The Cost of Carrots

Tonight after work I walked over to Walmart (not my favorite place to shop, but being within walking distance earns them more of my patronage than it would otherwise) to get foodstuffs I can put in my new slow cooker. I usually avoid Walmart on Mondays because there are usually about 600 people there, each with a month's worth of groceries, and three open check out lanes, none of them express lanes. Tonight there were fewer people there, at least in line, and maybe five checkers, somewhat of an improvement. But that wasn't the most striking thing about his visit.

I was second in line at the lane I chose, and it was just being handed over to a new checker - and I got the impression from the hand-off and the look in this kid's face he was new on the job. Everything went well until he tried to ring up the loose carrots. Braaaamp!went the register; the wrong code had been entered. He tried again. Braaaamp! He picked up a laminated sheet full of produce pictures, put it aside and rang up the rest of my order. Then he politely excused himself to find someone to help, and despite the fact he returned within seconds, there were restless murmurs behind me. The woman he came back with was on a handheld radio phone, obviously frustrated but politely and respectfully explaining what needed to be done to solve what ever problem it was she was dealing with while confidently entering the carrot code -- Braaaamp! (obviously the incorrect one) -- into the cash register. "Does anyone know the correct code for single carrots?" she asked the person she was talking to and then said, "Apparently we don't sell single carrots." I laughed, thinking that she was being facetious, but as she walked away, she turned back to me and asked if I wanted the small bag? No, I wanted just the two carrots. "We don't sell single carrots." I assured her they do and they had a full bin of them. She looked skeptical but said okay, and walked, I presumed, towards the produce aisle.

At this point I wished I had paid my usual attention to the prices so I could simply say they were y cents per pound. But I hadn't. I had merely thought, "What's a stew without carrots?" I was thinking perhaps I could just used my canned or frozen carrots, and was going to tell the checker so, when the guy behind me grumbled something about "Stupid people who work at Walmart." I hate bullying, and that includes personal attacks against people who are obviously trying to do their best. In such situations I generally respond in a passive-aggressive manner (i.e., still bullying, technically, even if it is bullying the bully), and I decided this turkey needed a lesson in patience. The entire delay up to this point had been two or three minutes, tops. The lesson didn't last long; I'd no sooner made that decision than another woman came forth, swiftly entered the code and told the checker what it was. My order was complete. I thanked her, and thanked him, recognizing the efficiency he otherwise displayed, paid and left the store.

As I left at my own leisurely pace, a woman raced past me with her cart, out the door and to a waiting taxi. She apologized to the driver, who shrugged and said "No prob," and she went on to explain about "nobody knowing the price of stupid carrots." Okay, now we're verbally abusing defenseless vegetables in addition to responsible working teenagers.

I walked home, reflecting upon the fact that I would be a liar if I said I never let anything so insignificant as a four minute delay cause me to lose patience with my fellow humans. And I wondered why it didn't bother me tonight. I know if I am tired and stressed, as quite possibly Grumpy Man and Taxi Lady were, I have little patience with delays. But I was tired tonight, yet not stressed. Why didn't it bother me tonight, really not bother me (aside from my irritation at Grumpy Man)? The fact I didn't have a twenty minute wait before it was even my turn was likely a factor. The fact I really wanted those carrots might have helped.

Perhaps it was an experience I'd just had on the bus on the way home from work was what had changed my perspective. At any given time, there are a multiplicity of infinitely more important things than delays caused by the uncertainty of cost codes. People are facing terminal illness,
wayward children, addicted loved ones, unemployment. Carrots, no matter how yummy they are, are rather insignificant by comparison. On the bus ride home I was half-dozing when I heard a man behind me saying he was hungry and had spent all his money for bus fare and he would give his life for a hamburger. I had two thoughts, the first of them being that was hungrier that Popeye's friend Wimpy ever got, and second, wondering if this man would accept the chia bar I had in my bag. Chia bars are an acquired taste, after all. And then I wondered if I still had any McDonald's gift cards. I seldom eat fast food any more, but do buy the gift cards to offer to those who beg for money. And those cards are generally in another bag or another coat, so I cannot offer them anyway. Today, I had one with me, so I turned around and offered it to him. At first  he protested and said he couldn't take that. I said "Of course you can. Go on, I carry those cards with me for this very purpose." I then felt a little uncomfortable, fearing it sounded like I was building myself up, which was not my intention. It is why I carry those cards with me, but I don't like praise for doing something I consider to be simply decent. Say "thank you", and then be done. This man was very thankful. And he appeared very stunned that a stranger would help him. I could tell he was sincere. I wondered, when was the last time someone did something nice for this man, perhaps even acknowledged him as a human being? Even though I had freely given him of my fast food gift cards, he probably needed my time as well.  I'm not proud to admit that in addition to being embarrassed and uncomfortable with his praise at my goodness, I didn't particularly want to talk to him because I wanted to get back to my nap. But many blocks later when I pulled the cord for my stop, he reached across the seat and gave my shoulder a squeeze and said softly, without the overflowing of praise, "Thank you. It means a lot. God bless you." I told him "And God bless you, too. You take care of yourself." I walked home, wondering why I find it so difficult to give of my time to strangers. That's probably another blog post.

I don't know what made the man in the checkout lane behind me so impatient and disdainful of others; if that his normal behavior or if there are so many hard things going on in his life that those four minutes really were a big deal to him. Likewise I do not know if the lady rushing to the taxi maybe needed to get home quickly, or maybe just needed to have someone listen to her. Once home, while cutting up the carrots and potatoes and wishing I had an onion (the single onions at the store looked pretty poor and I didn't want a whole bag of the good ones), I thought of something else that might have given me an extra measure of patience tonight. Yesterday's Sunday School lesson was entitled "Who Is My Neighbor?" and although the stories were familiar to me, they were presented in new ways. I'd heard of the  servant who had been frankly forgiven the ten thousand talents and then straightway went and bullied a lesser servant for a much smaller debt. But I'd never before thought of it in light of how I tend to forget my own blessings and the things which I've been forgiven for and how I need to forgive others for their much lesser transgressions.

How easy it is to lose perspective! How easy it is to take our blessings for granted and forget that we get three square meals (or more) a day. How easy it is to became irritated, even feel righteous indignation towards social injustices and then fall into the trap of making blanket statements and passing unrighteous judgement based upon our current inconveniences or fears or uncertainties. How easy it is to allow the emotions of others to influence our emotions, to allow news media and social media to color our own judgement. Despite what Facebook memes would have you believe, the vast majority of police officers do not abuse their power and are constantly faced with having to make split-second decisions without the luxury of a video game "second life" to use when they hesitated too long before being shot themselves and saying, "Dang, my first impression was right -- that was a gun and he did intend to use it against me!" Despite what left-wing or right-wing talk show hosts and radical practitioners of religion (is there much difference between radical religionists and radical talk show hosts and Hollywood pundits?) would have you believe, the vast majority of people who believe in some sort of higher being, regardless of what they call that being, diligently strive to use their beliefs to build stronger families and better societies and believe in such things as charity and tolerance and coexistence -- even if they go about it differently than you do. And most grocery store employees are trying every bit as hard to do their jobs as everyone else does theirs.

[Side note: In case anyone is curious, carrots are currently 50 cents a pound, and I caused all that commotion for fifteen cents worth.]

Beauty Where You Don't Expect It

Friday, in what has become my norm, I didn't allow myself time for a leisurely walk to the bus stop, and on a day with snow and ice covering my paths, that is not such a good thing, because no matter how good one's winter boots are, haste is just asking for trouble. I know my regular path fairly well and know the parts most likely to be icy in the parking lot I typical cut across. I pass by a medical office which has the past few days accumulated quite the array of icicles. I had taken a picture of them the first day; they had grown and I wanted a close up for one but knew i was already cutting the time short. I settled for plucking off one of the larger ones and examining it as I quickly walked the rest of the way. I have a friend who teases me about having missed my calling in life as a "safety engineer", and I had a few vague thoughts such as the possibility of slipping and impaling myself with the icicle sword, but for the most part that part of me was shut off as I hurried along carrying this thing.

And what a thing it was. An intricately carved work of art like a sword in a fantasy novel, a bit over two feet long, with rings and twists in interlacing layers. I really wanted a picture of it then, and figured it would probably take more than one to capture all the details, but the only camera I had with me was the one on my cell phone, which I'd not yet turned on, and lo! there was the bus, pulling up to the curb. I tossed the sword - that is to say, the icicle, into a snowbank and trotted up to the end of the line of boarding passengers. I was reasonable certain I would not be allowed to board a public transportation vehicle with the argument that it was a work of art and not a potentially deadly weapon which would melt before the authorities arrived. Although I did file that thought in my "story ideas" file.

Later that morning commute, one of the regular passengers who often sits next to me when she boards but has never responded to my simple "Good morning" greetings with more than a nod, again took a seat by me. The usual layover at that location was truncated due to the weather slowing everything down, and we took off shortly. The route is split between the main boulevard and avenues lined with trees and older houses. I commented, "I don't much like snow, but I cannot deny how beautiful it makes things. My seatmate smiled and agreed in accented English.

There was a humorous country western song recorded a number of times in the late forties and early fifties, which asks the question, "Life Gets Teejus, Don't It?" Well, yes, it do indeed. But I think at least a portion of that tediousness comes when we lose our focus. We might not have much say when it comes to what bombards us through the day. Difficult coworkers, neighbors, clients, merchants and even complete strangers sometimes seemingly go out of their way to share their pain, trials and negative outlook with us, whether we invite them to or not. We deal with our own fears and insecurities and disappointments and tragedies and then gain a little perspective when we see those we love suddenly facing things which either make our own problems pale by comparison or cause us pain as well because of how much we care for them, or simply frustration because we are so spent we don't feel we can help. And that can add to the tediousness, because where is the beauty if everything is cold and lifeless and everyone is sick and afflicted?

Right under the surface is where it is at. It is frozen within layers of cold, but adding beauty, unable to catch the light until we hold it up and truly look at it. So hard to see when we are so distracted by what we don't have that we look right past what we do. Five minutes looking at a sculpted icicle or  a tree lined avenue woven on Jack Frost's loom won't make trials go away. But five minutes is time sufficient to catch one's breath and regain a bit of perspective. And for me, it prompts the question why I don't take that five minutes more often.