Buying Time

When I get stuck waiting behind a long line of customers, I don't usually think happy thoughts. Nor do I do those inconspicuous bun-tightening exercises the magazines advise for my spare time. I don't peruse gossip rags to see what's up with Jen and Brad and the various Desperate Housewives. And I only rarely drool over the candy bars.

Most of the time, I just think about how I'm in the wrong line.

I'm compulsive that way, I guess. The minute I get in line with all the back-to-school-shopping crazies, I compare my position to the persons on my left and right. If they manage to inch forward in their lines faster than I do in mine--which always happens--I realize that once again I've managed to choose the check-out person who needs to change his cash register tape. Or fill her drawer with change. Or argue with a customer whose credit card gets rejected. Or call back to automotive for a price check.

Yesterday was no different. I found myself only four people back in a line that looked promising. The customers in front of me didn't have a lot in their carts. And the check-out clerk was female, which only matters to me if I'm buying lingerie or another similarly feminine item. (I'd hate to embarass some poor guy, much less myself.)

But my promising line did not move. Not once in ten minutes. The folks to my left and right had headed to Applebee's for lunch, where they laughed about the clueless lady in Lane Seven who never caught on that her clerk and the people in line in front of her were paid actors and she's on Candid Camera.

Time passed. Stomachs growled. We all fraction-of-an-inched forward.

When I was second in line, I got a look at the check-out girl. The customer had only purchased three t-shirts, all the same but different colors. The clerk scanned one, then began a process of folding it which I thought would take the rest of her natural life. She never raised her eyes from her task, never met the gaze of the customer, never responded to the giggles of the little boy who held his mother's hand.

She's retarded, I thought. Or maybe autistic. The expression on her face remained static, but her focus on her task was intense. She began repeating the episode with the second identical shirt. First the scan, then the laborious, painfully meticulous folding. Finally, the third shirt. And then the exacting chore of obtaining payment, all without looking up from the counter.

I noticed, from my still limited vantage point, that the girl's neck was as thick as her head, and that her wrists were the size of her upper arms. Yet she didn't seem to be overweight at all. The customer in front of me picked up her bag and I moved to put my things on the counter. I pushed my cart forward then, so that I stood in front of the clerk.

Before I looked up, I said, "How are you today?"

No response.

Could she be completely deaf or mute and hold this job? I didn't think so, but why would she not respond?

I lifted my eyes and found the answer. Covering her entire face, neck, arms, and hands were hundreds--no, thousands--of tumors. The smaller ones were the size and shape of peas, raised from the surface of her pod-like skin. The large ones were like marbles, nearly the size of her sad brown eyes.

I waited a bit before trying again. We had plenty of time, she and I, since the t-shirts were on sale and I'd selected quite a few.

"Is it always this busy in here?" I asked. She kept looking down, but shook her head from side to side. It was a start.

"Because I've never seen it like this, except at Christmas time. I mean, I don't get over here all that often, but--" I figured she'd get sick of listening to me soon, and maybe, just maybe...

"They came for the DVD players." Her voice muffled into one of my t-shirts.

"I'm sorry. The what?"

"The DVD players. Hundreds of people showed up at the opening for five crummy DVD players. I could have told them we wouldn't have enough..."

"They came for the towels, too, you know," I said, amazed that sometimes small talk isn't so very small at all.

"You're right," she said. "I've seen a lot of towels go through here. Kids leaving for college, I guess."

"I came for the men's dress shoes," I said.

She opened the box and held them up. "I didn't know about these. My husband needs some shoes to go with his suit. I'm going to go back there and look. Twenty bucks is a great price. Thanks."

She didn't smile and she never really looked up. But we talked. In some strange way, we even connected.

Who knew I was in the right lane all along? To think the check-out girl turned out to be worth way more than the wait.

"Thou art all fair, my love. There is no spot in thee." Song of Solomon

Posted by Katy on 08/04/05 at 09:03 AM

Fallible Comments...

I wonder . . . when we get to heaven and Jesus sets fire to our life and all the hay and straw is finally gone . . . I believe these are the experiences we are going to see in the purified silver and precious stones. Thank you for taking the time to stop letting it be about you and choosing for it to be about her.

-----
Posted by Ann on 08/04/05 at 05:17 PM
This is so well written and moving. Oh that we might be able to see how God uses slow moving lines, cold cups of water, and nails and wood for His glory! What a soveriegn God!
Posted by Jason on 08/04/05 at 10:37 PM
sounds like you were in the right line after all!
Posted by cmhl on 08/05/05 at 04:03 AM
I was getting all primed to share my clever comments about the violators of checkout line etiquette till I got to the end of your story.
We like to think God has a special plan for us, that we are destined for some great purpose that we are esppecially gifted for. The truth is that love, what you did for that girl, is our purpose, the calling that oerarches and supercedes any other destiny we are called to.
You have humbled me.
Posted by Angus Lewis on 08/05/05 at 02:12 PM
this began to sound like one of my Omnibus posts. then it ended sounding like one of my Omnibus posts. thanks.
Posted by Paula on 08/07/05 at 01:51 AM
Thanks for sharing this experience!
It really made me think.
Posted by Rachael on 08/08/05 at 10:48 AM
this was so nice to read- what a good reminder. Thanks! :)
Posted by Lindsey on 08/08/05 at 05:00 PM
thanks

had to laugh though about the female cashier v male cashier and lingerie... brings back a funny but embarrasing memory :)

be blessed!
Posted by Lorna on 08/10/05 at 10:15 AM
What a blessing, thank you for sharing. I look forward to reading more of your posts.
Posted by Jami on 08/10/05 at 04:35 PM
that's lovely. thank you for reminding me to always look to beauty.
Posted by Monika on 08/11/05 at 12:23 AM
This post made me bawl. I love you, my friend!
Posted by suzan on 11/26/10 at 11:13 AM
katy, this happens to me all the time. i keep reminding myself that we're probably better off not knowing how much a seemingly small interaction can impact someone's entire day, or entire future, otherwise, our heads would never fit into our bonnets!
Posted by Sue Haley on 09/07/11 at 06:23 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Buying Time When I get stuck waiting behind a long line of customers, I don't usually think happy thoughts. Nor do I do those inconspicuous bun-tightening exercises the magazines advise for my spare time. I don't peruse gossip rags to see what's up with Jen and Brad and the various Desperate Housewives. And I only rarely drool over the candy bars. Most of the time, I just think about how I'm in the wrong line. I'm compulsive that way, I guess. The minute I get in line with all the back-to-school-shopping crazies, I compare my position to the persons on my left and right. If they manage to inch forward in their lines faster than I do in mine--which always happens--I realize that once again I've managed to choose the check-out person who needs to change his cash register tape. Or fill her drawer with change. Or argue with a customer whose credit card gets rejected. Or call back to automotive for a price check. Yesterday was no different. I found myself only four people back in a line that looked promising. The customers in front of me didn't have a lot in their carts. And the check-out clerk was female, which only matters to me if I'm buying lingerie or another similarly feminine item. (I'd hate to embarass some poor guy, much less myself.) But my promising line did not move. Not once in ten minutes. The folks to my left and right had headed to Applebee's for lunch, where they laughed about the clueless lady in Lane Seven who never caught on that her clerk and the people in line in front of her were paid actors and she's on Candid Camera. Time passed. Stomachs growled. We all fraction-of-an-inched forward. When I was second in line, I got a look at the check-out girl. The customer had only purchased three t-shirts, all the same but different colors. The clerk scanned one, then began a process of folding it which I thought would take the rest of her natural life. She never raised her eyes from her task, never met the gaze of the customer, never responded to the giggles of the little boy who held his mother's hand. She's retarded, I thought. Or maybe autistic. The expression on her face remained static, but her focus on her task was intense. She began repeating the episode with the second identical shirt. First the scan, then the laborious, painfully meticulous folding. Finally, the third shirt. And then the exacting chore of obtaining payment, all without looking up from the counter. I noticed, from my still limited vantage point, that the girl's neck was as thick as her head, and that her wrists were the size of her upper arms. Yet she didn't seem to be overweight at all. The customer in front of me picked up her bag and I moved to put my things on the counter. I pushed my cart forward then, so that I stood in front of the clerk. Before I looked up, I said, "How are you today?" No response. Could she be completely deaf or mute and hold this job? I didn't think so, but why would she not respond? I lifted my eyes and found the answer. Covering her entire face, neck, arms, and hands were hundreds--no, thousands--of tumors. The smaller ones were the size and shape of peas, raised from the surface of her pod-like skin. The large ones were like marbles, nearly the size of her sad brown eyes. I waited a bit before trying again. We had plenty of time, she and I, since the t-shirts were on sale and I'd selected quite a few. "Is it always this busy in here?" I asked. She kept looking down, but shook her head from side to side. It was a start. "Because I've never seen it like this, except at Christmas time. I mean, I don't get over here all that often, but--" I figured she'd get sick of listening to me soon, and maybe, just maybe... "They came for the DVD players." Her voice muffled into one of my t-shirts. "I'm sorry. The what?" "The DVD players. Hundreds of people showed up at the opening for five crummy DVD players. I could have told them we wouldn't have enough..." "They came for the towels, too, you know," I said, amazed that sometimes small talk isn't so very small at all. "You're right," she said. "I've seen a lot of towels go through here. Kids leaving for college, I guess." "I came for the men's dress shoes," I said. She opened the box and held them up. "I didn't know about these. My husband needs some shoes to go with his suit. I'm going to go back there and look. Twenty bucks is a great price. Thanks." She didn't smile and she never really looked up. But we talked. In some strange way, we even connected. Who knew I was in the right lane all along? To think the check-out girl turned out to be worth way more than the wait. "Thou art all fair, my love. There is no spot in thee." Song of Solomon Posted by Katy on 08/04/05 at 09:03 AM Fallible Comments... I wonder . . . when we get to heaven and Jesus sets fire to our life and all the hay and straw is finally gone . . . I believe these are the experiences we are going to see in the purified silver and precious stones. Thank you for taking the time to stop letting it be about you and choosing for it to be about her. ----- Posted by Ann on 08/04/05 at 05:17 PM This is so well written and moving. Oh that we might be able to see how God uses slow moving lines, cold cups of water, and nails and wood for His glory! What a soveriegn God! Posted by Jason on 08/04/05 at 10:37 PM sounds like you were in the right line after all! Posted by cmhl on 08/05/05 at 04:03 AM I was getting all primed to share my clever comments about the violators of checkout line etiquette till I got to the end of your story. We like to think God has a special plan for us, that we are destined for some great purpose that we are esppecially gifted for. The truth is that love, what you did for that girl, is our purpose, the calling that oerarches and supercedes any other destiny we are called to. You have humbled me. Posted by Angus Lewis on 08/05/05 at 02:12 PM this began to sound like one of my Omnibus posts. then it ended sounding like one of my Omnibus posts. thanks. Posted by Paula on 08/07/05 at 01:51 AM Thanks for sharing this experience! It really made me think. Posted by Rachael on 08/08/05 at 10:48 AM this was so nice to read- what a good reminder. Thanks! :) Posted by Lindsey on 08/08/05 at 05:00 PM thanks had to laugh though about the female cashier v male cashier and lingerie... brings back a funny but embarrasing memory :) be blessed! Posted by Lorna on 08/10/05 at 10:15 AM What a blessing, thank you for sharing. I look forward to reading more of your posts. Posted by Jami on 08/10/05 at 04:35 PM that's lovely. thank you for reminding me to always look to beauty. Posted by Monika on 08/11/05 at 12:23 AM This post made me bawl. I love you, my friend! Posted by suzan on 11/26/10 at 11:13 AM katy, this happens to me all the time. i keep reminding myself that we're probably better off not knowing how much a seemingly small interaction can impact someone's entire day, or entire future, otherwise, our heads would never fit into our bonnets! Posted by Sue Haley on 09/07/11 at 06:23 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Too Pooped To Pop Previous entry: Fear Factor << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Buying Time

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri