We don’t stand much with tradition. We like to color outside the lines. For Thanksgiving we made a lasagna. It’s a meal we work together to perfect. I fry and boil everything, and my wife assembles and seasons it.
On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, we decided to have a traditional pre-Thanksgiving meal, cheeseburgers, French fries, and Moscow mules. After a careful inventory of our supplies, we found we needed vodka, buns, ginger beer, French fries, and limes. We had hamburger, cheese, and copper mugs.
No big deal, it was still early, still before 5:00.
Ohio has odd liquor laws and most of the carryout stores are in the middle of grocery stores, one stop shopping. You can wander through the produce section and grab some limes, cruise down the soft drink aisle for ginger beer, frozen food for French fries, stroll down the racks of bread and grab some buns and head into the liquor store. You can see it from the front of the store, the windows are right above the wall of gift cards. But the entrance is in the middle of the store, hidden behind racks of wine and coolers full of beer.
All I needed was a bottle vodka, and we’d have our traditional pre-Thanksgiving meal. Even if it was the first time.
I don’t normally take any groceries into the liquor store, I used to work in a liquor store, so I have some respect for the institution. But it wasn’t busy, and I only had a few things, why not, I reasoned.
Behind the cash register was an older woman, probably about my age. I knew her from previous trips. She always seemed a little angry. After the man in front of me paid for his alcohol, she stapled his bag closed and glared at his back all the way out the door. It was a look of absolute contempt. I couldn’t imagine what he had done or said to irritate her so much. What I had seen of the transaction seemed mild, nondescript, dull. I didn’t see what he purchased but I could tell by looking at the bag it was just one thing, and it was alcohol.
“Can I pay for these in here?” I asked, not sure what to expect. They had to have rules about purchasing groceries in the liquor store, and I had seen other people paying for stuff in there. Yes, I probably spend too much time in liquor stores. But rules are not always followed when managers are home, eating their own pre-Thanksgiving hamburger and enjoying a Moscow mule.
“Yes, that’s fine.” She said, trying to smile. It had a certain warmth, almost hidden behind a cautious indifference. I had never seen her smile. It was almost a surprise. And I wondered if I thought she didn’t know how to smile. No, not at all. Everybody knows how to smile. It was just new, and things always take on an ominous tint around the holidays.
“I don’t normally do this. I usually just pay for my groceries in the grocery store.” I said, without thinking about it. It just came out. I didn’t think she cared. It was true, but it was a reflex, unplanned, almost in self-defense. I hadn’t expected the smile, or the almost friendly warmth, and was trying to process the information, the data.
“I wouldn’t want to pay out there, either.” Her hand made a sweeping gesture across the windows looking out over the lines of registers, most of which were empty, no cashiers, no customers, desolate islands of commerce. Even the self-checkout lanes were mostly empty. I realized this was just her standard go-to answer when somebody asked if they could buy some groceries in the liquor store. Her own self-defense.
I showed her my driver’s license and made a joke about looking so young, and not wanting to put her on the spot.
While we were waiting for the credit card machine to process the charge, she told me it wouldn’t be a good idea to pay for groceries in the liquor store on Wednesday, the last day before Thanksgiving.
“Someone might try to kill you.” She said,
“Not us, back here. Out there, on your side of the Plexiglas.” She pointed to a place behind me. It was empty, but it wouldn’t be, not on Wednesday.
“I’ll make sure to take care of my alcohol requirements before Wednesday.” I told her, and I did, buying a bottle of bourbon on Tuesday.
“I told my boss I’m not working alone on Wednesday. She said I wouldn’t have to; she’d schedule someone to work with me. One thing taken care of. I told her I wasn’t going to accept groceries. People will bring their whole cart in here and want to pay. It’s crazy, we don’t have the space for that.” She said.
“There’s a big sign, in a big stand, that says no grocery carts. It’s right by the door. How can they miss that?” I asked.
“They don’t. They just don’t care. Then they get mad at us for saying we’re not allowed to help them.”
“People.” I didn’t know what to say. I was still surprised by the smile and astounded by the conversation.
I thanked her as I left, and she wished me happy holidays.
It wasn’t at all what I had expected. Things had turned on me and an employee had become a person. How many times have I looked at someone and not seen a human being, just a series of responses?
Humanity has to be measured at the micro level, there are too many details to notice if you aren’t willing to look closely enough. So, to you, and everybody else, Happy Holidays. Santa may know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice, but I’m happy to know everybody is a little of both.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock