Running Stupid Errands Restores My Faith in Humanity

Proving the world I live in is not at all the media's hellscape

Image by Tumiso from Pixabay

It’s another cold, gray day and I am fully aware that the world is going to hell. A quick scan of Google News relieves me of any doubt as to the clear truth of that fact. An ill-advised peek at social media — even the new, less toxic platform — assures me that not only are things bad now, but they’re bound to get worse.

Everywhere I look in Screen World, haters, screamers, liars, corrupt politicians, and heartless billionaires are on the prowl, making life worse for everybody.

Why do so many people have to suck?

But we’re out of broccoli and cranberries, and the deli sandwiches we‘ve decided on for dinner tonight aren’t going to order themselves, and I’m too demoralized to figure out Insta Cart. So off I go.

First, a stop at the coffee shop drive-through to grant me enough energy to endure.

And here’s what I experience out there in a Three-Dimensional World.

While waiting in the car line, I watch a couple of guys chat in the parking lot, coffees in hand. Rugged types, dressed for rugged work in wool beanies and weathered jackets, in their 30s or 40s. Rolling down my window as I approach the barista’s drive-through window, I overhear the tail end of their conversation.

You’re the guy I can count on, every time. Love you, man.

You too, brother. Say hey to the wife and kids.

Off they go to work in their respective pickups, while an unfailingly cheery barista hands me my latte.

I drive through the sleet to the grocery store. It’s a huge place, one of those mega-markets that also has a clothing department, a shoe department, a garden department, a home goods department, and a random tchotchkes department. I’m there to buy broccoli, but I take a spin through the sale racks first.

By sale racks, I mean clothes. It’s not a waste of time if I find a great bargain, right?

And I do! At least, maybe I do. It’s unclear if the 60% off sign applies to the sweater I’m considering. I locate an employee, a young, harried-looking woman wearing a grim expression and a sparkly elf hat.

“Can you tell me the real price of this?” I ask. Her expression doesn’t lighten. “I don’t have the POS scanner,” she says flatly.

I think the sweater’s pretty cute. Hardly a piece of shit, especially at that discount. But that’s not what she means.

“Hold on,” she says. “Erica’s got it.” And off she goes, abandoning her overflowing cart of items that need to be shelved or straightened or priced, to find Erica, who has the Point Of Sale scanner.

I wonder what challenges this obviously overworked and probably underpaid young woman faces that puts her demeanor so at odds with her hat. She remains unsmiling and unresponsive to my waning attempt at small talk as she works. But she does her job; she makes sure I get my question answered, even though she’s clearly got a lot of other stuff to do.

I mean, she could’ve just told me to go find Erica myself.

And yes, the sweater is 60% off. I put it in my cart, along with a couple of packages of warm socks to leave in the giveaway barrel for folks in need. If I can buy myself another sweater I could probably live without, I can at least make sure somebody else has winter socks.

I wonder if the young woman who fetched the POS scanner has enough socks.

I head to the produce aisle. My husband and I eat a fairly astonishing amount of organic baby broccoli — there are worse vices to have — but there’s none in the bin where I usually find it.

Nearby is a staffer with a veggie-laden trolley, either stocking or culling the bins, it’s hard to tell. He moves quickly, obviously working against the clock.

“I guess you don’t have any baby broccoli?” I ask him, interrupting his flow.

He stops what he’s doing and searches through the greens on his trolley. “Hold on, maybe we have some in the back,” he says, and bustles off. By the time I locate the cranberries (always in a different location), he returns with a crate full of fresh baby broccoli.

“Wonderful,” I say, and I mean it. “I’ll take two bunches.”

“Here, let me trim the lower stalks for you,” he says, as he deftly wields a wicked-looking, curved blade. He presents me with two perfect, deep green clusters of broccoli fronds and a broad smile. “You have a great day,” he says.

I am starting to do just that.

After a few more items — including some wine — I head to a checkout line instead of the self-check, because wine.

The lady in front of me chats with me about the craziness of holiday shopping. The lady behind me nods at my wine and whipped cream and quips that she wants to come to my party.

I reach the head of the line and quickly enter into a delightful conversation with the checker, whose grandchildren are coming over that evening for hot cocoa and Christmas crafts. We joke about how simultaneously precious and exhausting young grandkids are. “You come through my line anytime,” she says when we’re done.

My day is getting better.

I get the groceries loaded in the trunk before it starts sleeting again and head to the deli.

Forget any images of a packed New York-style establishment stocked with imported delicacies and cheeses and sausages hanging above the counters. This is the most unprepossessing deli you could imagine, stuck between a barber shop and a vacant Walgreens in a bleak strip mall.

But this family-owned deli employs a woman my husband and I call the Sandwich Genius. She never fails to astound me, this woman who listens to multiple sandwich orders with the present-minded focus of a spiritual master. Then she whips out those sammies with efficiency and an artful attention to detail.

And she smiles and chats the whole time. By now, she doesn’t even have to ask me what I want; she has our orders firmly fixed in her brain even though it’s been weeks since we’ve ordered from her and she’s probably served thousands of customers in the meantime.

In a gesture that always makes me smile, she labels our sandwiches“His” and “Hers.” She never gets it wrong.

I drive home, singing Christmas songs and thinking about the mismatch between Screen World and The Three Dimensional World.

And I am once again grateful for the reminder that there is no such thing as ordinary people.

Whatever you are, be a good one. — William Makepeace Thackery