Last
Saturday was, of course, the last Saturday before Christmas, and like any
good manager of time, I realized I was running out of it; at least the
time to finish shopping for the lovely Amy.
However,
Saturday also brought the second of several predicted days of storms, so
no matter how long I procrastinate getting up and at it, no matter when I finally
got out there I’d be out there in a monsoon. Coincidentally, everybody
else in town was shopping, too- the weather absolutely no deterrent at all- and
my car always seemed to end up at the deep end of the parking lots. Of course,
everyplace I went, whether going in or coming out, that's the time the skies
decided to open up. So I was running through downpours all morning, and by
the third drenching was sopping wet and cold.
And as
my Christmas spirit began washing down the drain with the rushing rain
water, I decided to duck into the local Rite-Aid; not just to browse, but
to dry off. When warmth returned to my fingers, I walked around to kill
time- and avoid having to go back out again- and picked up a couple little odds
and ends to look like I was really shopping before getting into the queue at
the check-out lines. All of them were lengthy, so I picked the closest one and
settled in for a long wait. At least the dampness was wearing off, though my
shoes were still wet and spongy from splashing through too many puddles.
The person in front of me was a little old guy. He had white hair, moved slow, was hunched over and wore a coat that smelled like rain-soaked moth balls. His basket held about ten items, mostly toys, and a couple personal things, too. That was okay. I was next after him, and the other lines weren't moving in much of a hurry either. When he got to the register, the gentleman began soliciting conversation with the lady waiting on him. He asked how her day was going, inquired about her Christmas plans; then rambled on about the weather and whether the rain was ever going to end.
Good grief. Would you please stop talking and let the lady do her job so we can all get outta here?!
And it was only after his stuff was tallied up that he decided to pull out a couple of coupons. So the register lady has to recalculate those two items and re-figure his final total.
Holy crap, Gramps! Next time do that first, please!
Next he pulled out his checkbook to pay the bill but, after asking for a pen found no checks. For a minute he seemed flustered and unsure what to do. The tranquil cashier calmly asked if he had a credit card instead. "Oh yes. Yes I do. I'm glad you reminded me", the old guy answered and began fidgeting with his coat. I could see the billfold bulging in his back pants pocket; the thing was so big it looked like he was trying to shoplift a waffle iron.
C'mon, Moses. Check your pants. Can't you feel that? It must weight ten pounds.
He finally found the wallet and apologized to the clerk. "Oh I'm so sorry. I don't mean to take up all your time. And I know there's other people waiting”, he said, glancing back at me and the six other people snaked out behind me
Yeah, we’re all waiting Grandpa--stuck in the line that time forgot. So wrap it up, okay? I wanna get outta here before Christmas.
The check-out was near the entrance and every time someone blew through the store's front door, a jolt of cold air kept knifed though my damp sweatshirt and further lowered my level of comfort and tolerance. As the elderly customer finally got his hands on his overstuffed wallet, the way-too-patient sales lady patted him on the arm and put him at ease. "No. You waited your turn in line, too. So don't worry about it. Take as much time as you need."
Oh, Geez Lousie, come on!
She’d just given "Father Time" carte blanche to fiddle around at her register, apparently till next Christmas, if need be. Swell. But thankfully, the old guy finally found his Visa card and passed it over.
Please, lady, whether Credit or Debit, don't ask him which. It’ll undoubtedly confuse him. Just run it through and let the bank sort it out.
But she asked anyway and I knew I was gonna be stuck in Rite-Aid till New Year’s. But his credit card went through, and finally the old man’s lengthy transaction was finished. The clerk happily handed over his receipt, reported how much he’d saved with his coupons and Wellness card and wished him a Merry Christmas. The old dude thanked her then slowly picked up the bag of items and, slower still, turned to vacate the register area. He made sure to make eye-contact with me, though, as I began to squeeze by. "Thank you for being so patient. I'm not usually this confused", he chuckled slightly. "You have a good day and a good Christmas, okay?"
Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can you just move out of the way please?
Lying through my teeth, I told him the delay was okay, parroted his holiday greeting and put my things on the counter. The lady at the register started scanning the bar codes and nonchalantly began talking. "He's a sweet gentleman. I heard his wife died earlier this year, so it’s his first Christmas without her and I guess he inherited the job of shopping for the grand kids. That can be a little daunting first time out, but I'll bet he just couldn't let those little ones down. Bless his heart."
Immediately I felt like the schmuck who stole Christmas; like a Grinchy piece of doo-doo. What's the saying? Walk a mile in my shoes? Shoot, I hadn’t even tried the old guy's shoes on; instead I soundlessly fumed and dismissed him as an obstacle to completing my own agenda. Of course, none of that made it out into the open, and nobody in the store knew what'd been percolating between my ears. But I did and, worse, God did.
And though I hadn't run into Rite-Aid intending to be a jerk, somewhere between my entrance and exit I’d become one anyway. At least I’d been thinking like one, right at the precise moment my Heavenly Father saw me masquerading as one of His followers. I knew it and He called me on it. I hate it when that happens. I hate getting caught trying to pass myself off as a pretty decent guy when, in reality, I'm a phony; no better than the cruel kid who catches butterflies for pets, but when nobody's looking pulls their wings off. At least the kid has the ignorance of youth as an excuse. I'm just a freaking hypocrite.
The old man lumbered out of the store and into the chilly rain, and I stood silently at the cash register, rebuked and repentant and hoping I'll get it right next time. And that's the glory of the grace of God. I will get another chance to be the guy He so patiently keeps waiting for, and wanting me to be. And one of these days, I will be. I am going to get this right. No, I didn't on this day. But someday, God help me, I will.
The person in front of me was a little old guy. He had white hair, moved slow, was hunched over and wore a coat that smelled like rain-soaked moth balls. His basket held about ten items, mostly toys, and a couple personal things, too. That was okay. I was next after him, and the other lines weren't moving in much of a hurry either. When he got to the register, the gentleman began soliciting conversation with the lady waiting on him. He asked how her day was going, inquired about her Christmas plans; then rambled on about the weather and whether the rain was ever going to end.
Good grief. Would you please stop talking and let the lady do her job so we can all get outta here?!
And it was only after his stuff was tallied up that he decided to pull out a couple of coupons. So the register lady has to recalculate those two items and re-figure his final total.
Holy crap, Gramps! Next time do that first, please!
Next he pulled out his checkbook to pay the bill but, after asking for a pen found no checks. For a minute he seemed flustered and unsure what to do. The tranquil cashier calmly asked if he had a credit card instead. "Oh yes. Yes I do. I'm glad you reminded me", the old guy answered and began fidgeting with his coat. I could see the billfold bulging in his back pants pocket; the thing was so big it looked like he was trying to shoplift a waffle iron.
C'mon, Moses. Check your pants. Can't you feel that? It must weight ten pounds.
He finally found the wallet and apologized to the clerk. "Oh I'm so sorry. I don't mean to take up all your time. And I know there's other people waiting”, he said, glancing back at me and the six other people snaked out behind me
Yeah, we’re all waiting Grandpa--stuck in the line that time forgot. So wrap it up, okay? I wanna get outta here before Christmas.
The check-out was near the entrance and every time someone blew through the store's front door, a jolt of cold air kept knifed though my damp sweatshirt and further lowered my level of comfort and tolerance. As the elderly customer finally got his hands on his overstuffed wallet, the way-too-patient sales lady patted him on the arm and put him at ease. "No. You waited your turn in line, too. So don't worry about it. Take as much time as you need."
Oh, Geez Lousie, come on!
She’d just given "Father Time" carte blanche to fiddle around at her register, apparently till next Christmas, if need be. Swell. But thankfully, the old guy finally found his Visa card and passed it over.
Please, lady, whether Credit or Debit, don't ask him which. It’ll undoubtedly confuse him. Just run it through and let the bank sort it out.
But she asked anyway and I knew I was gonna be stuck in Rite-Aid till New Year’s. But his credit card went through, and finally the old man’s lengthy transaction was finished. The clerk happily handed over his receipt, reported how much he’d saved with his coupons and Wellness card and wished him a Merry Christmas. The old dude thanked her then slowly picked up the bag of items and, slower still, turned to vacate the register area. He made sure to make eye-contact with me, though, as I began to squeeze by. "Thank you for being so patient. I'm not usually this confused", he chuckled slightly. "You have a good day and a good Christmas, okay?"
Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can you just move out of the way please?
Lying through my teeth, I told him the delay was okay, parroted his holiday greeting and put my things on the counter. The lady at the register started scanning the bar codes and nonchalantly began talking. "He's a sweet gentleman. I heard his wife died earlier this year, so it’s his first Christmas without her and I guess he inherited the job of shopping for the grand kids. That can be a little daunting first time out, but I'll bet he just couldn't let those little ones down. Bless his heart."
Immediately I felt like the schmuck who stole Christmas; like a Grinchy piece of doo-doo. What's the saying? Walk a mile in my shoes? Shoot, I hadn’t even tried the old guy's shoes on; instead I soundlessly fumed and dismissed him as an obstacle to completing my own agenda. Of course, none of that made it out into the open, and nobody in the store knew what'd been percolating between my ears. But I did and, worse, God did.
And though I hadn't run into Rite-Aid intending to be a jerk, somewhere between my entrance and exit I’d become one anyway. At least I’d been thinking like one, right at the precise moment my Heavenly Father saw me masquerading as one of His followers. I knew it and He called me on it. I hate it when that happens. I hate getting caught trying to pass myself off as a pretty decent guy when, in reality, I'm a phony; no better than the cruel kid who catches butterflies for pets, but when nobody's looking pulls their wings off. At least the kid has the ignorance of youth as an excuse. I'm just a freaking hypocrite.
The old man lumbered out of the store and into the chilly rain, and I stood silently at the cash register, rebuked and repentant and hoping I'll get it right next time. And that's the glory of the grace of God. I will get another chance to be the guy He so patiently keeps waiting for, and wanting me to be. And one of these days, I will be. I am going to get this right. No, I didn't on this day. But someday, God help me, I will.
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