Courtesy of Daily Zen
I had some running around to do yesterday. Nothing unusual there - except that the temperatures were in the 90s and the humidity was about as high as it could get without actually raining.
I know that under these kind of weather circumstances I tend to get dehydrated. I know that I had better pay attention to my water intake or I’m going to start feeling really bad really fast. For years, I have carried bottled water with me; there is always a bottle in the car. Yesterday, halfway along the second leg of my errand-running I felt for the bottle which sits in a recessed holder to my right and just slightly to the rear.
No bottle…
I knew exactly what had happened to it. Dad and I often go to lunch together on Saturdays and I always bring my water with me since dad, being dad, always drives. And I had left my bottle in his car when I went home Saturday evening.
Well, crap…
The market was my last stop before home. I rounded up the stuff I needed and got in the 12 items or less line. It was, as usual, fairly long.
While I was waiting, I watched an elderly man come in. He came around to about where I was standing and when I realized he was trying to get to the cooler beside the register line, I shifted my carriage so he could get through.
Then there was enough room for me to step up to the conveyor and start moving my purchases from the carriage to the belt. But just as I was about to do so, the elderly man stepped in front of me. He waved his bottle of Dasani at me and said, “Mind if I go in front of you? This is all I have.”
I motioned for him to go ahead. I’d like to tell you that my thoughts were charitable, that I realized he was in the same boat I was - needing water and perhaps not feeling very well. I’d like to be able to say that I realized at his age, it was probably quite a bit more critical for him than for me to get that fluid into his system. I wish I could say that I knew it wasn’t going to take more than a minute (and it didn’t - he paid cash for his bottle, turned and thanked me kindly and went on his way) and so wasn’t a problem.
But I can’t . My thoughts were all mulish and resentful. I didn’t want to give up my place in line. I’d had to stand and wait; he should have to stand and wait too. I would never dream of asking someone if I could step in front of them. He shouldn’t have asked. Now I have to spend more time in this damned line and more time in this stupid supermarket.
Of course I could have said “No” when he made his request. But even at the height of my over-heated peevishness I knew that was petty. I knew all my thoughts were petty and mean. I think I acted correctly, but my head was totally into me space which, upon later reflection, made me feel a bit ashamed.
I had to wonder, does everyone else go through things like this? Do you find it dismaying to discover that you’re still thinking like a five-year-old sometimes? When I was a kid, I thought that being an adult meant thinking and feeling differently about things. But I find that I don’t always think or feel differently. What has changed is that I usually act differently - or try to anyway. Is being a grown-up merely the contradiction of thought by action?
I love this particular market. It is in a very busy, somewhat shabby and extremely ethnically diverse neighborhood. I love walking around hearing the echoes of half a dozen different languages around me and noticing styles of dress and colors that wouldn’t be found anywhere near the markets in the better parts of the city. I also love being able to go to one store and be able to buy rice noodles, pad thai, curry and Goya’s Maria cookies to dip in my tea :)
But the thing I like best about this place is that nowhere else is it more clear that despite our superficial differences, we are all in this together. Language, clothing style, skin color - none of it matters. We are all looking to feed our families. We are all trying to get the best food value for our money.
And perhaps we may all, someday, need a bottle of water badly enough to have to ask someone if they mind if we go first.
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The confluence of events conspired to make you grouchy. You are only human. But even though you didn’t feel that way you still were nice and compassionate. That’s very grown up and civilized in my book.
you go girl!
your inner 5-year-old handled things quite nicely- my inner 3-year-old is frequently a demon given to pouting and tantrums that the ‘mature me’ has to unwillingly control-
sometimes when some of the little people who frequent my life give in to behaving in typical little people behavior and fling themselves around in bellowing fury, i look at them and think how very nice it must feel to not yet have the veneer of civilization firmly attached-
i think i will go in and shriek at the princess and mr. hufflepuff -
oh, your store sounds wonderful- there are some in houston that are like that- wandering around in them is like having a trip around the world and i always try to include a visit to one of those grocery stores when we are there-
stay happy-
Aarlene - Lord love you girl, I cannot even imagine what it must be like in the southern states in the summer. Misery probably doesn’t begin to describe it!
Barb - I do, sometimes feel that way about tantrums, but not when I see kids having them; that’s (within limits) normal. I feel that way when I see adults have them. I am possessed of two equal and mutually exclusive feelings - that the tantrum thrower is a complete waste of skin and oxygen and the more distance I can put between me and them, the better. And the profound desire to be able to let go and be that self-indulgent myself sometimes. I can’t, of course, and don’t. But I do feel a little wistful about it on occassion :)
He could have been the Buddha. You did the right thing. You were kind. Perhaps next time will be the right time to just let it be.
Margene - Now isn’t that something to consider! Pardon me will I have the willies after the fact :)
That Buddha comment reminds me of that old joke.
The Buddhist says to the hot dog vendor, “Make me one with everything.”
The transaction is made, the Buddhist pays the vendor and asks for his change.
The hot dog vendor says to the Buddhist, “Change comes from within.”
At least the guy in front of you wan’t buying hot dogs.
Bev - I’ve always liked that “Make me one with
everything” line but I hadn’t heard the “change” part before! Hot dogs, indeed :)
Omigosh, Margene, that startled me too, thinking that guy being the Budda. Wow but a good thing to consider.
As for the weather, without cheap-ish electricity I don’t know why anyone in their right mind would be down here.
