I expertly maneuver past shoppers who have left their carts sitting awkwardly in aisles already too narrow for comfort. Two women are so engrossed reading the label on a jar of skin cream they have forgotten the toddler sitting unsupervised in their cart. Tapping one of them on the shoulder, I interrupt their quest for wrinkle-free skin long enough to point out that they left Junior too close to the display behind them. He has been entertaining himself by pulling a three-year supply of hair dye into their cart. Memories of shopping with my own son at that age flood back. He had an unbelievably long reach, too, which resulted in more than a few odd items at the check-out register.
I continue to weave back and forth, pausing to cross items off my list as I go and reviewing frequently. While I strive to avoid back-tracking, the store engineers have once again conspired against my system by rearranging the floor plan for “their customers’ convenience”.
Shelves of shampoo stretch before me; containers in a riot of colors and shapes designed to stand out more than the brand I’m hoping to recognize. My composure begins to wane as I wander back and forth, looking high and low for the familiar product. A few feet away from me an employee is restocking a section of shampoo and conditioner. She reaches behind the plastic bottles and scrapes them all into the cart next to her so she can rearrange them all over again. They collide against each other and rattle the metal cart in an unpleasant, clamorous concert. Perhaps that toddler I observed earlier has a future as a stock boy; he appears to already have the proper qualifications.
It’s obvious this employee would rather be doing anything else than this task. She wears a sour expression on her face as she loudly knocks over another row of bottles. I think this girl going to need that jar of anti-wrinkle cream on Aisle 6 before she reaches her thirtieth birthday.
The irritability emanating from her makes me feel uncomfortable and impatient to leave the vicinity, but I still haven’t found my shampoo. Just as my own frustration rises, I hear someone singing softly. The melody seems to be drifting from the opposite side of the wall of hair products. There is a pause, and then the song begins again. Who could possibly be happy enough to sing in this miserable environment?
The building tension I felt moments before melts away. I glance back at the grumpy employee and notice my brand of shampoo is one of those piled in disarray in her cart. My search here is over and I can finally escape this area! Curiosity detours me around to the next aisle which is stocked with dog food, chew toys, and flea collars. There’s nothing I need here, except wishing to locate the source of the pleasant singing. The aisle is deserted except for a lone, middle-aged employee dusting a section of shelves filled with cartons of dog biscuits. Silence greets me and I assume the ‘canary’ has already flown away. I was about to move on when the employee began to sing as she worked. Happy notes floated around her like a sweet perfume. When she paused again, I decide to approach.
“You’ve just made my day. I have been enjoying listen to you sing,” I offer. She was a bit surprised, but appeared pleased by my comment.
“I like to whistle, too,” Sandy explained, “I always knew I’d never work in a job any better than this; I’d never be rich. I figure I should just make the best of it and be happy. It makes the work go faster. That way I have a good day.”
“You’ve given us both a good day,” I tell her with a smile, “Thank you so much for sharing.”
The rest of my shopping went smoothly and somehow the wait at the cash register didn’t seem as long as usual. I located my car in the parking lot with ease, piled my purchases in the trunk and headed for home. The most valuable thing I took home with me that day happened to be free. I’d definitely found the prize at the bottom of the package of Cracker Jack; it was Sandy. By the way, it should come as no surprise that the only wrinkles on her face are laugh lines and they’re absolutely beautiful.
©2011 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomen.com
Photographs from Wikipedia: First page, Westfield Center, San Francisco, second page: Norwegian pharmacy by Nina Aldin Thune.
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