At a local grocery store, the staff is friendly—I’d say too friendly, although I’m not sure if there is an edge to that. (If there is an edge to friendliness, a limit that I don’t want someone to cross, then it is probably my fault for being a sourpuss or having a bad attitude.) I enjoy their friendliness—even when I go through the line and, in looking for things to chat me up about, they take a look at my groceries wink and say something like, “So, just the wine and pitas today, huh?” This has happened to me at this store.
So now I expect a conversation from a happy person as part of the shopping experience. When I choose where to shop, this aspect plays heavily into my decision. Do I want to go to a store and go through the line of a grumpy person who hates their life, or do I want to go to a store where people are happy and share that joy?
The other day I was shopping (for more than just wine and pitas this time, okay? Stop judging!), and I was waiting for the friendliness. The cashier looked at my shirt, which was my favorite Cloth and Pixel design. “Love one another,” he read out loud. He was black, in his twenties, with an incredible smile—I could see why they hired him in this store of ultimate friendliness.
I am white, in my 30s, and I smiled back. “Yep,” I said.
He kept pushing my groceries through the scanner. “Wouldn’t everything be so much better if we all just followed that rule of thumb?” he asked. “They say, ‘Love your enemies.’ Why is that so hard?”
“And I would argue that it’s just as important to know who your enemy is,” I replied. “I’m assuming we are having a problem because we are seeing enemies where they aren’t. Here, we even need to be reminded to love our neighbors, which is worse.”
“So true,” he said. “I like that shirt.” He finished ringing me up.
“Thanks,” I said. I paid and left. And was glad and surprised to have had my most important conversation of the day. I should buy more than wine and pitas more often.
