Thanks for What You Do

It was a busy Saturday morning, and Safeway was packed with grocery shoppers. Like all the rest I prowled the aisles filling my cart and checking things off my list. After 45 minutes of hustling I had completed my list and headed to the checkout lanes. There was only one lane open, and there were a dozen carts in line ahead of me. Great.

“Where’s the manager?” complained the lady ahead of me. “This is ridiculous. I’m going to have to find another store to shop at. The service here is nonexistent.”

The self-help kiosks were also crowded, so there was no relief. You could hear lots of mumbled grumbling from everywhere around. People joined the line behind me. There were more unhappy comments. One guy cursed, shoved his cart aside, and walked out of the store leaving the frozen foods thawing in his cart.

The sweet older lady behind me was quiet and stoic, but the guy slouching behind her with a full basket of numerous cases of beer and assorted snacks was loud and obnoxious. He ranted and raved and complained to anyone within earshot about the injustice. As if we weren’t miserable enough, we had to be subjected to his constant, annoying whining. The stoic lady finally had enough, drew herself up to her full five feet tall, and told him to button up because she was sick and tired of hearing about it. It shocked him into silence. An “amen” echoed from somewhere behind him. There was a silent chorus of nods all around. We had a new hero.

I invited the no-longer-stoic lady to swap places with me, but she declined. “I’m in no hurry,” she said with a smile.

While the woman ahead of me was paying for her groceries, I hustled to place my items on the conveyor, making sure to have my rewards card and credit card in hand so as to make things go as quickly as possible.

Without looking up, Maria, the clerk, mumbled, “So sorry for the delay. We’re shorthanded. Please accept our apologies.” She’d repeated the phrase to each person. Maria was in her 50s with black hair and dark eyes. Her hands flew as she moved items over the scanner.

“What happened?” I asked.

She looked up sharply.

“Everyone called in sick today except me. I’m the only clerk here.”

“Wow! This must be really hard for you. Thank you so much for coming in today and for putting up with all the abuse. You’re amazing,” I said. “I really appreciate you. Thank you for what you do.”

Her eyes glistened, and she burst into tears. She rushed around the end of the check stand, almost knocking the bag boy over and shoving my cart aside. She reached up and hugged me. She pulled down my face and kissed my cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. That’s the first nice thing I’ve heard all day.”

There was silence in the line behind me as she made her way back to the register. As I paid and pushed my cart away I heard the no-longer-stoic older woman say, “I appreciate you, too. Thanks for what you do.” She then told the bag boy, “Thanks for what you do, as well.”

The guy behind her was strangely silent.

“Thanks for what you do.” It’s a good thing to say.