She was ready to yell at me for wearing a name tag when she came through my checkout line. She smelled like perfume and acted like she owned the business. She had no notion that her actions would influence the course of history.
For the past two years, I’ve been a cashier at the same grocery store. After my wife died and I became a single parent to two kids, I didn’t think a stranger would come into my life and make things better.
I worked in an office for a well-known company that sacked its personnel a few years ago, so I was out of work before I became a cashier. While my husband Tommy worked in construction, I took care of our daughter Lila and son Jacob.
Even though he had just spent ten hours moving steel beams and came home covered in cement dust with calloused hands and heavy steps, he always had a smile on his face. He would meet me at the front door, kiss me on the forehead, and ask what I had cooked for supper, as if it were something we always did.
But four years ago, there was an accident at the site. The ground slipped away while it was raining. In my nightmares, I still hear the call. That night, my spouse didn’t come home, and he never would.
Everything inside me froze after the funeral. I had to learn how to breathe again. The sound of him departing rang through the walls of our home, and I did everything I could to protect our world from breaking apart.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t let the kids see me cry, even though I felt like I was going to fall apart. I cooked, folded clothes, and smiled every time I picked up my kids from school, even when I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.
Tommy and I bought a tiny ranch house when we were in our mid-20s, and we still reside there. The porch is old and the paint is flaking. The rear door squeaks like it’s angry when we open it.
The toaster only works if you push down on it with a spoon, and the kitchen always smells like the last pot of coffee I made that morning. But it’s home. We own it.
I remember sitting in the break room on my last day of work, drinking coffee that had been watered down, and staring at the cardboard box they had given me. They shook hands and said, “Best of luck,” to each other.
I took anything I could get because I didn’t have a college degree or any money saved up. Because of this, I ended up working at register four. I don’t like my job, and I’m not proud of it, but I accept it. That job has paid the bills. We bought Lila’s braces and Jacob’s cleats, and we made peanut butter sandwiches for their lunches.
After a while, you get acclimated to the beat.
The scanner blaring, the noise of the product bags crinkling, and the fact that you remain smiling even though your feet hurt. You get to know the regulars, like Mrs. Dorsey, who buys 20 cans of cat food every week even though she doesn’t have a pet.
Carl acts like Santa to everyone and won’t let anybody else do the packing. You also learn who to stay away from.
It was just like any other Thursday at first. It was too quiet. The fluorescent lights were buzzing softly, and a little adjustment in them made the clock turn backwards. I had already thought about how my kids would sleep at home and how I would reheat the leftovers for dinner after I polished the belt three times and filled the gift cards. It was probably mac and cheese again.
My mom took care of the kids for the night.
At 9:42 p.m., with barely twenty minutes left on my shift, the doors hissed open and trouble walked in.
The woman who came in moved like she was in charge of everything. Her nails and hair were flawless. It was pitch black outside, but she wore sunglasses on her nose, a long black designer coat with gold buttons, and heels that clicked like she was making an announcement.
The smell of her made her feel like she was in a cloud of pride. Before she even got to my register, I could feel it stinging my throat. Even though her cart wasn’t full, she moved it about like she was floating down a runway.
I saw her throw a loaf of artisan bread into the belt as if it were an affront to her.
She looked me up and down like I was something stuck to her shoe before I even said hello.
She pushed out the word “Wow” like it was too heavy for her mouth. “Can anyone work here now?”
Even though my throat was feeling dry, I made myself smile. You already know. The smile that isn’t happy and makes you feel bad says, “Yes, I have to be here, but no, I’m not going to let you break me.”
“Good evening, Madam.” Did you get everything you needed?
She laughed a little too much.
She said in a mean way, “Oh, I found everything just fine.” “I’m just surprised you got to work today.”
There was a line of people behind her, including a couple with a baby in a stroller. The woman stared at me with pity, but no one said anything. They don’t ever.
I steadied my hands and browsed through her items, even though my cheeks were burning. When I reached for her last thing, a bottle of foreign wine, she laughed so hard that the people in line could hear her. I could see that everyone was looking at me, and a line was starting to develop behind her.
“Be careful, my love.” That costs more than all of your paychecks.
A handful of them walked around in a worried way. My ears were burning. The woman who was pushing the stroller looked at her husband in a way that showed she wanted him to talk. He shook his head.
I added, “That’ll be $212.58,” with a nice smile, but my voice was flat, calm, and tired.
She moved her platinum card across the table with two fingers, like she was feeding a wild animal. “Don’t screw this up,” she warned.
I waited after I grabbed it up and swiped it.
NO.
The screen turned red, and time paused.
She stopped grinning.
“What did you do?” she cried, her eyes getting wider and her lips curling in rage. “Don’t be dumb. People like you always have trouble with stealing!”
My gut hurt and my hands shook. I was crying, but I forced myself to swallow and took the card again.
I tried to explain again, but the woman screamed and stepped closer, saying, “What are you doing?!”
The wine bottle trembled when she slammed her fist down on the counter.
“Get me your boss.” NOW! “
I called our shop manager, Dave, and tried not to cry. He was over forty-five, always looked like he hadn’t slept enough, and liked to settle fights peacefully. He came there in less than a minute.
“What’s wrong, ma’am?” “he inquired.
With a well-groomed claw, she pointed at me and cried, “She humiliated me!” “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” “She clearly doesn’t know what she’s doing, and your machines are junk.”
Dave gave us a look. You could tell he was doing the numbers in his brain. The store’s negative reputation, the fatigued cashier, and the irate customer were all things that made it hard for them to work.
Then, someone behind her coughed.
The man had been in line the whole time. I had no idea who he was. He had a nice smile and was wearing khakis and a button-down shirt. He looked like a quiet person.
He answered in a calm voice, “Really, sir, everything was caught on tape.” You might want to look over your options before you make a choice.
That statement made the stress go away right away.
Dave squinted and slowly nodded before walking to the back room.
The woman crossed her arms and puffed like a kid who was unhappy. She shouted something awful about “wasting her time” and “people with no class.” I simply stood there, praying, waiting, and feeling like I was on fire inside.
Even though Dave was only gone for three minutes, it felt like a long time. The refrigerators made a steady hum, but other than that, the store was quiet. She banged her nails hard on the counter, as if she owned the place, and her lips were squeezed hard.
People in line halted in that awkward manner that people do when something humiliating happens in public. They want to see without being noticed.
The man who had yelled, on the other hand, merely stood there with his hands in his jacket pockets and didn’t move. I recall how relaxed he looked. As if they didn’t have to display anything.
Dave’s face looked completely different when he got back. He stood up straight and talked to me without looking at me.
He said, “Ma’am,” in a calm voice, “I looked over the video and the register records. I need you to leave the store.”
She opened her mouth. “What? That’s not possible! I’m a paying customer!”
I gently said, “Your card was declined,” hating it right away but too tired to care.
That was it. Her cheeks flushed red like someone had punched her. “You’re lying!” “I have a lot of money,” she yelled. What you’re doing is ridiculous! You will be sorry for this.
I took her items off the belt so that the next person could get on. She jumped forward and almost knocked over a box of eggs!
“Don’t touch my stuff!” she yelled. As her voice boomed across the aisles,
“Security to register four,” Dave stated into his radio.
I couldn’t believe how fast two guards came. One was tall and wide, and the other was shorter and seemed like someone who had seen a lot of chaos and was calm and serious. They merely stood next to her and waited without touching her.
The woman kept saying that we had “just lost a critical customer!” But her rage didn’t last long since they carried her away. Her sneakers made a lot of noise on the tile as she rushed to the doors.
The store was quiet again, that strange quiet that made noise sound louder.
Dave gave me a nod and then left. When the man who had defended me came up and put a chocolate bar on the belt, my hands were still shaking.
He added in a soothing voice, “You look like you’ve had a long day.” Then he smiled at me in a way that made me feel better. “Give me something sweet.”
I blinked at him because I didn’t know what to say. I smiled for the first time during the shift, but I can’t recall what I said back.
I saw him leave. I had no notion I would meet him again at the time.
He returned three days later.
On that Saturday afternoon, the store was busy with the normal weekend things. The sound of carts creaking, kids asking for candy, and the fragrance of the deli’s roasted chicken filled the air.
I saw him again on my route as I was looking through a box of canned goods. He simply had a bottle of water and a pack of gum with him.
I couldn’t help but smile as I asked, “Back for round two?”
He laughed. “Just backing up my favorite cashier.”
“Really?” I said, making fun of it. “Because it looks like you only came here to get a drink and freshen your breath.”
“Maybe,” he responded, leaning against the bar. “Or maybe I thought this place could use some more good energy after last time.”
He gave me his money and said goodbye. But when he went, I found a small piece of paper under the candy bar display. When I picked it up later, it was a little card that stated “Hang in there.” There was no name, only the words “Kindness prevails.”
It started to happen a lot.
Every few days, he would come into my lane. Sometimes he would bring groceries, and other times he would just bring me a cup of coffee. He always left a small present, like a note, a chocolate bar, or even a sunflower wrapped in brown paper, along with a kind comment and a grin.
My coworkers teased me about it, but I didn’t care. After all I had been through, it felt good to be recognized for the right reasons.
Two weeks later, I noticed an envelope next to the scanner. It had my name, “Sarah,” written in pretty letters all over it. When I opened it, my heart skipped a beat. There was a short note inside.
“You’ve been through too many tough days recently. Let me give you back some of the kindness you deserve. How about dinner this Friday?
I didn’t need it to be signed, but it wasn’t. I peered up at the store front as if he may come in to see how I would respond, but he never did. I was a little shaky as I stood there with that little packet.
Since Tommy died, I hadn’t gone out with anyone. Everyone who had ever shown interest had been turned down. It was a different time, yet it still didn’t feel right. That man had always treated me with respect, even when I was at my worst. That night, his eyes were bright, not sad.
I answered, “Yes.”
I expected Friday would come sooner than it did. When he knocked on my door with a tiny bouquet of wildflowers and jeans and a clean button-down shirt, I felt something inside me warm up.
I told them, “You didn’t have to bring those,” and my face grew red.
“I wanted to,” he said. “By the way, you look great.”
I laughed nervously. “It’s just a dress.”
When he said, “It’s just perfect,” I couldn’t help but smile.
He brought me to a little Italian restaurant in the city. It was the kind that smells like butter and garlic as soon as you walk in and is hidden between two old brick buildings.
I found out his name was Daniel after we talked for hours.
Daniel didn’t flinch or become offended when I talked about my dead husband. “He sounds like he was a good man,” he added, just nodding.
“He was,” I responded softly. “The best.”
He said, “I’m glad you had that,” and “You deserve someone who makes you feel that way again.”
I smiled because I didn’t know what to say. But that night, I transformed in some way. I allowed myself picture being happy for the first time in years!
After my shift on Sunday mornings, dinner became another dinner, then a movie and coffee. We took our time. It grew on its own, like sunlight coming into a room. A few months later, he met my kids, and they fell in love with him right immediately!
I truly looked at him one night after the kids had gone to bed. His eyes were kind but not flashy. It was the kind of silence that lasts and doesn’t need to be noticed. I didn’t know how much I had missed that.
A year ago, everything was different. We are now getting married. My kids call him “Dan,” as if they have known him for a long time. I used to cry in the kitchen, but now we laugh there. The house feels warm again, and it’s not just because of the coffee.
Right now, I work in the grocery store, but shortly I’ll be moving to help Daniel with his little contracting firm. He has constructed this new life from the ground up, just like we have, slowly, painstakingly, and with a lot of love.
Sometimes, when I’m ringing up customers, I think back to that night. I remember the woman who was rude and wore a lot of perfume. I used to wonder why I had to put up with someone like her. But I’ve realized that Daniel and I might not have met if it hadn’t happened.
That’s just how life is. A horrible experience led to the best thing that has ever happened to me.
