Went to Acme on Saturday – first time out of the house in several days, can’t leave my mother now, because she can’t do much for herself. The store was busy. Sort of festive, in that Thanksgiving way, not fully ramped up for Christmas and not the frenzy before New Year’s Eve. Just bustling, and full of holiday music and scents and sales. And a few insensitive (but probably well-meaning) sales people.
One of them was stocking the bread when I walked near her with my cart. She wished me a Happy Thanksgiving. I wished her one back. She grinned. I wasn’t smiling, mainly because I was trying hard not to cry. I’m exhausted and frantic with worry, and I’m trying to get used to the changes in my life. I desperately needed a shower; my hair was crummy and my white roots are showing. I just wanted to buy the few things I needed and GET HOME. I didn’t want to engage in any conversation, much less a cheery exchange. I know that my face reflected this – I could feel the frown.
Did that stop her? Nope. She asked me if I was ready for the holidays. Now, I don’t know her – I’ve seen her in the store, but I don’t know her. I was stuck where I was, because of a traffic jam at the end of the aisle. Otherwise I would have given her a little smile and run. But I couldn’t. As nicely as I could, I said yes. She asked me, “Where are you having dinner? At home?”
I was tempted to tell her that I’ll probably be eating canned tuna and I don’t give a shit anyway because my mother is slowly dying and I’m her sole caregiver and I’ve got my own damn health problems and I hurt so bad most of the time I can barely breathe, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I said, “Yes, I’ll be at home.”
She said, “Well, smile! Cheer up! It’s Thanksgiving! You’ll get everything done! We’re having my parents over and my sister and her husband — already have the turkey thawing – ” and she told me the turkey was 575 pounds or whatever and they were going to have eleven pies, and so on.
And didn’t I want some bread to make stuffing? Because, she said: “Homemade’s the best for Thanksgiving!”
The logjam broke and my cart could move, so I told her to have a good holiday. It wasn’t much, but It was all I could manage. I finished shopping, as quickly as I could. When I got to the checkout aisles, I was a lane across from a man who looked more miserable than I did. He was wearing a very dark suit — dressed up — and his eyes were red. And the lashes were wet. This guy had been crying. Funeral? Who knows. Maybe he was fired. Maybe his dog died. Maybe he heard his divorce decree read, in Illinois or South Carolina, and drove through the night to get out of town, and ended up at my Acme. Just his luck…
Because dammit he got the Holiday Happy-Happy treatment from his checker. The checker was a young guy, and I could tell his heart wasn’t in it – he looked like he’d rather be at home with his PlayStation and a few buddies, but I guess he was told to “be festive.” So he was. Repeatedly. Dark Suit broke. The poor guy started to cry. Not big crying, just those scary quivers that happen to some people. He told the checker to “F%#k the hell off.” Wow. My hero. And then Dark Suit told him that he was sorry, and abandoned his groceries on the conveyor bet. He left the store. Everyone was pretending not to look, but we all were. It was that kind of scene. My checker took one look at me, my messy hair and surely miserable face, and fear crawled into her eyes, like: Uh, oh! Another nut job. But she soldiered on and said, “Happy Thanksgiving.” I thanked her and made myself concentrate on counting in three’s backward from a hundred. It doesn’t ever make me laugh but sometimes I can smile for the sheer silliness of it. Didn’t work too well. My frown was stuck, between a sob and a sigh. As I was paying for my order, she told me that the store would be open extra hours for all my holiday shopping needs. “You never know what little goodies you might need to run out for at the last minute!” Then she wished me another Happy Thanksgiving and threw in a glittery Merry Christmas. Oh, man. Another holiday.
Listen: I’m not looking for anyone else to be unhappy. I’m not asking anyone to stop sharing holiday greetings and pleasantries. But you retailers out there need to be aware that a good portion of the population is dealing with BAD STUFF — every day. People are dying and suffering. People are being fired and laid off. People are getting divorced. People are dealing with poverty, drug abuse, alcoholism, physical and emotional abuse and all kinds of other really bad stuff. It doesn’t stop for the holidays. As a matter of fact, some things get WORSE around the holidays.
Don’t force-feed the joy and good cheer. Maybe that lady who pestered me was just a chatterbox. I don’t know. But what she did made me feel really bad. She probably didn’t mean to but she did. And that checkout guy who persisted in yukking up the holidays for Dark Suit probably didn’t mean harm, but he obviously “injured” the guy.
Maybe I should apologize now, on behalf of all the other folks who are similarly afflicted with normal life during these days of glee: We’re sorry to have to visit the stores and buy things and mar the festivities. No choice, though. That’s how it is.
So, please: Be happy. Be jolly. Be friendly. Celebrate yourselves silly. But most of all, be sensitive – to frowns and tears and blank looks. The bleak stare that meets your smile may not be looking for MORE of your chipper Happy-Happy — it may be looking for peace and quiet. Or it may be looking for nothing at all. Don’t try to show it a good time – just back off, after the first failed attempt.
There can be cruelty in forcing all that happiness on other people.
One final thing: I’ve worked retail. I know that dealing with the public can be a huge challenge. This isn’t about that. Or customer service. It’s about being KIND.
