A few weeks ago, while shopping at my neighborhood grocery store, a store I often describe without affection, – I recognized a face.
I have been shopping at this store since it opened – & when
it was in its first location. Established by a family owned corporation that
sold out to a much larger corporate entity, I have watched as quality, service & consistency suffered & faded from
that change.
I shopped in the days when management hired the elderly & disabled
& amazing young people & if I forgot my checkbook, I could sign the
receipt & return the next visit with payment.
That was a long day ago.
A few weeks ago was not the first time I recognized a face or
someone recognized my face or that the recognition revealed the store as the
connection.
It has happened at the strangest moments – taking my mother to a
lab for blood work & a man smiling at me & asking me about myself &
family, certain he recognized me from somewhere.
That man & I later saw one another at my neighborhood
grocery story & realized that we knew one another from that same store.
A few years ago, a young woman smiled at me in the meat aisle & said:
A few years ago, a young woman smiled at me in the meat aisle & said:
You probably don't remember me. I used to work at The Walden School - I am Miss Cathy's daughter. I remember your son Sam & how you used to make your own dog food for a geriatric dog.
But the other day, recognition in the store or about the store meant something different.
The store is fading – the prices increase each week, luring
customers in with deals for multiple purchases.
The building itself is fading, lacking diligent & proper maintenance.
I make small trips during the week – because I am not comfortable
with leaving my mother for long.
Many of
the employees at this fading establishment know me by name.
The other day, a few weeks ago, I thought I recognized a face
from the not so distant past. One of my
favorite cashiers, Patsy.
Patsy knew every regular customer in her line by name. She visited with each, but still managed to keep
the line moving. She was amazing. I would wait behind too many people to go
through her line.
One day she disappeared. I
asked another of my favorite cashiers, Rebecca, where Patsy has gone. Rebecca told me that Patsy had taken another
job, in a different field.
A few weeks later, I found Patsy in the produce section. Curious, I asked her about the new job. She explained that she had not gone job
hunting, but that the opportunity simply fell into her lap.
One of her regular customers had hired her right out from behind
the register.
While I was saddened at the thought of going through the
checkout line without her smile & warmth, I understood. I was just surprised that it had not happened
sooner.
Patsy was what my former supervisor & friend Barbara Smith
called, “a shiny penny.”
Over the ensuing years, I have grieved over the loss of that
shiny penny from my grocery shopping experience. Followed by the loss of my other favorite
cashier Rebecca.
Then, a few weeks ago, I watched a store supervisor assisting a
cashier. It was Patsy.
Eventually, we crossed paths, once again in a checkout
line. The store was crowded &
reinforcements had been called in from the upstairs office.
When my turn at checkout came, I smiled & told her that I
was glad to see her. Patsy replied:
Ms.
Ettinger? It is nice to see you again.
Our little one square hamlet, its borders framed by
Houston & Sugar Land & Stafford, attracted an Aldi’s. It is scheduled to open in the next few
months. I watch the construction
progress greedily, longing for an option to my only local, get in & out in fifteen minutes store.
Outside of what I so often reference without affection, all
other traditional stores available in the area are a trek that does not meet my
time constraints as a caregiver.
And I love Aldi’s, its prices, the quality of its brands. I still cannot make the leap from Hellman’s
mayo or Grey Poupon or Heinz ketchup or Silk Cashew milk or those wickedly
delicious pickles, Wickles or Blue Bell ice cream to an Aldi brand.
I will still shop for those items & chocolate for my mother Jean & frequent the pharmacy & floral department at the other end of the city from Aldi’s.
I will still shop for those items & chocolate for my mother Jean & frequent the pharmacy & floral department at the other end of the city from Aldi’s.
But it will no longer enjoy the profit from the bulk of my
grocery purchases.
And I will miss the shiny pennies.
Patsy, of course. Michael
who sacks my groceries whenever I am in a lane, always thanking me by my first
name. Jimmy, who works in the meat department &
gives me a hug every time he encounters me.
Maria, who is a joy to behold – her hair styles a marvel to me. I will miss Cedric, who has worked there for
so many years that the staff throws a store wide celebration on his
birthday.
Cedric is non-verbal & does not hear. He reads lips, his face so expressive that signing is not always necessary to understand what he is saying.
Cedric is non-verbal & does not hear. He reads lips, his face so expressive that signing is not always necessary to understand what he is saying.
When I fell last year & had a head on collision with the
tile, floor, Cedric encountered me in an aisle, my left arm in a sling, my left
eye & left side in varying shades of black, purple & yellow.
Cedric wept. I could see the worry & concern in his eyes & face. He signed, asking me what happened. I assured him that no one had hurt me, that I had fallen, that it looked
much worse that it felt. I did not tell
him that it still hurt like hell.
Recognizing Patsy was different than encountering other friends
or distant relatives or peers or acquaintances.
It initiated a sense of loss.
Seeing Patsy again in a familiar setting reminded me how deeply I will miss those shiny pennies. I will miss
cashiers & sackers & managers greeting me & asking about my mother
Jean.
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