It's been too long since my last post, so perhaps a little bit of humor will break the ice. I'd like to recount an encounter I had about two weeks ago at our local grocery store.
It was a Thursday, during my lunch break, and I was on the checkout line at Hanson's (a.k.a. Carrs, a.k.a. Safeway). I had a simple ensemble of items in tow: a vanilla root beer, a York's Peppermint Patty, and a copy of our local weekly newspaper, The Nome Nugget, which had just hit the shelves.
There was only one person on line in front of me: a young Native boy, I'd say between 7 and 10 years old. (The older I get, the worse I've become in pinpointing the ages of those outside my peer group.)
The boy had amassed a small order of some standard household foods: eggs, milk, bacon, and a few other things. He had done an admirable job lugging each of these items (disproportionately large for his small hands) from his cart and onto the black conveyer belt (disproportionately high for his small stature).
One by one, the cashier rang through his items. I don't remember the final total, but let's say for the sake of this post that it was $16.40.
The child then reached into his pocket, and awkwardly removed a wad of $1 bills, gradually unfolding the wad of singles and counting them. When he had finished, he sheepishly revealed to the cashier, "I'm 40 cents short."
An awkward silence ensued. The child looked at the cashier, the cashier at the child. The cashier, I believe, may have muttered out a tentative "OK": not a reassurance that the debt would be overlooked, but rather just an acknowledgement of the problem. What to do?
In the pregnant pause, I mentally pictured the amount of money inside my wallet, and decided that I must surely have at least one dollar bill that I could donate to the moment.
I took out my wallet and was right: there were some $1 bills inside. I gave one to the child, he finished the transaction, quickly thanked me, and then left with his groceries - taking my $0.60 with him.
That's fine, I thought at the time. Surely he needs the change more than I do!
As it turns out, I was wrong.
It was now my turn in the checkout line. My newspaper went through, my candy, and then my bottle of root beer. My total: $3.47.
I took out my wallet again, still feeling a little self-congratulatory from my recent goodwill. I surveyed the remaining money inside.
There were three $1 bills left, and not a scrap more. With the child already long gone, I was now forty-seven cents short.
I sheepishly looked back at the cashier, handed him my credit card for the measly purchase, and smiled.
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