I get it: Grandpa George is waiting on you to come back from the store with the My T Fine Chocolate Pudding for Christmas Eve. And your wife needs the Filo dough for the baked brie. It needs to be here. But you’re not the only one with that last minute thought. There’s actually a huge community of people like that. We have ceremonial gatherings where we all get together and acknowledge how tight-knitted we are and how alike we think.
Those gatherings tend to be at the supermarket on the day before Christmas Eve.
And so I take the trek to the nearby store. The line goes way past the beauty aisle, inventory is tossed all over the floor in a frantic hurry, and it’s been such a hectic reunion that making the aisles look presentable is the last thing on the staff members’ minds.
It’s a madhouse.
But the thing is, that cashier there isn’t just a toll booth. Her shift ended two hours ago, and she had plans to get ready for the holiday too. So I wait in line patiently. I look her in the eye and say hello. And before I leave, I say, “Thank you for being here,” as a way to acknowledge that sacrifice. Yes, even though she’s getting paid for it, she no more likely wants to spend her evening ringing up my order as I’d like to be waiting in a seemingly never-ending checkout line. But here we all are. In the same boat. Together as a community of last-minute planners, and today is our big family get together.
I wonder what could make time matter or mean more. What perspective could I possibly have that I’d want that checkout line to move even slower, not faster. That I wouldn’t want to leave so quickly. That I could soak in the moment, even a hectic one that no one wants to be in. And give out a good laughing chuckle at the glaring humanity of it all.
If I could have access to the intercom and get a message out to everyone as they’re waiting anxiously in that line, what would I say?
I think i’d want to tell them that their cashier’s name is Catherine. Her shift technically ended 2 hours ago, and even though she has her own last minute errands to run before the holiday, she agreed to stay late to help out. She doesn’t need to be here, and in fact, if she wasn’t here, you’d be standing in that jolly old checkout line for an even longer period of time. So when it’s finally your turn to checkout, maybe look her in the eye, say hello before you tell her you need a price check, ask her how she’s holding up with all the craziness, and thank her and wish her a happy holiday. She’s a person, not some robotic toll booth.