The Service

I had an enjoyable experience a couple days back. I was in the throes of a “staycation” ( autocorrected to starvation) and needed to get some food to replenish my stocks. I ended up getting much less than required but it was enough to get me back to the working world. I was doing my classic shopping excursion at the local Wal-Mart at 7am on a Sunday, the usual, when I got approached by a store associate. Let me give some context here, at this hour, on this day you aren’t going to see the regulars of Wal-Mart. Generally you are seeing the night shift workers finishing off their restocking routines for the night. Generally that breed keeps to themselves more and aren’t used to dealing with customers in general. I know all this from experience and familial knowledge. So I was a little surprised by the concern shown. I, myself, was pawing through a mound of bags housing breakfast sausages. Not for sheer pleasure, but in search of the sausage patties. I’ve been blessed with a run of finding them there and using them in my fabled breakfast sandwich machine. It was a couple weeks back that I forgot to get a sack and I’ve been living without since, no desirable feat. This lady asked me if that was what I was hunting for amidst the pile of lowly sausages and I had to sheepishly confess that it was, hoping for one rogue bag down in there. She started talking to me about how she too had grown to enjoy that particular product and the joy that it brought to her family. After we lamented about the delicious and convenient treat these patties had been affording us, she revealed that she was uncertain if more would arrive. She shared her disappointment in the uncertainty of it and revealed the sticker had even been removed. Surely a kiss of death to any food item. (Don’t call me Shirley) I asked if they got a new modular map when that happened or if they simply removed the sticker to deflect questions from fanatics such as myself. She gave me an odd look and asked which store I’d worked at. Without hesitation I replied “3128, hardware, 2001-2002” and she nodded knowingly. I guess knowing some lingo had tipped her off. Her demeanour changed slightly to something more familiar. I wasn’t a weirdo shopping before good people had sense to be out of bed anymore, I mean I still was that thing, but I was something more. I’d served. I’d worked for the same beast, shared the struggles. Part of the same organization, shared kinship. She shared that she is expecting to receive an overshipment and have to fill an eight foot but couldn’t say when, and that it wasn’t off the modular. That was enough for me. I appreciated the interaction. As I sauntered away after after thanking her and wishing her good day, I reflected on the human interaction we’d just shared and how that is more rare in the world today, despite being connected. This thought was punctuated as I again skipped the now plentiful “self checkout” lanes to find the sole live cashier working. The fellowship and comradery of the encounter was brought to light whilst I devoured some of True Detective, season 3. Seeing a similar kinship between two military men in the program afforded me to make the parallel to what I’d just experienced. Not the same by any means but not opposite to be certain. It was a fun little experience that I noted to share with you.