The Grocer

I don’t know where she’s from, what her name is, or why she’s doing what she does. I first met her one night when I needed bacon and ice cream. Obviously need is a strong word because ice cream is a delicacy and not necessarily a need. Also, notice I didn’t say anything about bacon then. I was rushing trying to get home and her line was empty. I walked up and set my things down a little bit frazzled and she said “Yes ma’am!” in a boisterous, beautiful African accent. I wasn’t exactly sure what she was agreeing with, but I loved her attitude. She had a wide smile and she asked me how I was doing. I asked in return and she replied, “I am awesome.” 

And she always is. I love going through her line, I love hearing her ask how other’s are doing and seeing her smile. She’s one of those people that always seems happy. Even at the grocery store, even after she’s been there for hours. 

I always try to go through her line whenever I can. I love that she’s always concerned with how her customers are doing and if they got everything they needed. Small acts of kindness go a long way — we know this. And every time I go to buy my groceries and I see her working, my day gets a little better. Not because she’s a dynamic person or because she’s gone out of her way to help me with some huge problem, but because her persistent kindness and generous smile have a way of brightening gloomy days.