I offer an average everyday episode from my life that probably won’t be remembered an hour after tomorrow.
It has no significance when viewed from the ‘shallows’, but it says so much about us as a people, a community, and a society.
It says so much about me, in that I chose not to ignore the casualness of this instance that I’m so willing to forget.
Today I walked into our local grocery store to purchase some washing
powder and something that was ‘commonly unique’ caught my eye.
While standing in the express line, waiting to purchase my washing powder, I
noticed the cashier. She was nice looking with a stylish hairstyle emphasizing her single
blond streak in the front. She was somewhere in her late-teens with a neutral-depressive
‘look’ on her face.
Neutral, in the sense that she didn’t care about one thing around her and
depressive, because she didn’t care what any of the customers had to say.
When a customer asked her where something was, she quickly responded with an
‘I’m not sure’ or a classic ‘you’re gonna hafta ask the front desk.’
On her right arm she had two tattoos and on her left she had one. All of them were
basic word written tattoos and the one on her right forearm was the only one that I could
read. It was a poorly drawn heart that said ‘REGGIE’ inside of it.
By the time she began ringing my washing powder up, my mind had come up
with a half of a million reasons to why she was here and doing this job that is making her
I looked at her arm and spoke to her…
“You married him yet?”
“We gonna’ get married soon, but now I don’t know.”
“How long you been datin’ him?”
“-tsk- 13 months.”
“His name for a lifetime, hunh?”
“Uh-hunh, we ain’t never gonna’ break up,”
“That’s cool. Thanks and good luck.”
I couldn’t help but smirk a little. The attitude was common and she hoped that her
tattoo would make her unique… to him.
Man, does she have an adventure ahead of her…
I think the thing that moves me is how we go through our everyday lives meeting people, reading their symbols, and working so hard NOT to get to know them because we really don’t want to hear their problems.
My father used to say, ‘Everyone has a story to tell, it is that, NOT everyone is willing to listen.’ This defines what we have become as a society.
She was so young… and yet, she had a name written on her that would follow her to the end of her days.
The complexity of that simplicity was so sad.