Looking For Calm

I was at the Chatham Stop and Shop with my mom and two children last week. One could feel the hustle and bustle intensifying as the minutes pushed closer and closer towards Friday afternoon. Being stuck in line at the grocery store while people are moving into “weekend mode” can be trying at best. The bags we had brought were buried under our groceries, and so the woman bagging had begun using plastic ones. I had my son dig them out, and he laid them on the conveyor belt. The woman had a puzzled look on her face. We were asking her to change gears midstream and use the cloth bags. The quarters were more than a little tight. My mother and my son stood in front of me. My daughter was pointing out a brand of gum we had not yet purchased. The round package of bubble gum was strategically placed. Who hasn’t grabbed a pack or two when tensions are increasing and meltdowns from children are imminent. Our cart occupied the space between where you stand to slide your credit card through the machine and the spot where the bagger stands. Susan, the middle aged woman who was bagging our groceries, had begun to open a cloth bag and was placing items in carefully one by one. I pride myself on being a really good bagger, and I do like to assist cashiers when I can. Susan was taking three times as long and yet even as our adrenaline was rising, her pace stayed consistent. My son, who had bumped his head pulling the bags from beneath the cart, had moved toward the car with a headache. Thankfully my mother had moved to stand next to Susan, and I had a foot of breathing space. I could feel the impatience beginning to surface as I watched the care with which Susan was bagging. I looked at her more closely as I moved to place a gallon of milk into the cart not wanting to have it placed in a bag. Susan wore a yellow collared shirt with a black apron, Stop and Shop logo emblazoned on the front. She had short gray hair and blue-gray eyes. As I grew closer, I became aware that she was developmentally disabled. Slowing down a bit I asked her how her day was going. “I am not having a very good day,” Susan said as she painstakingly placed a package of hamburger into a small plastic bag. “Some days are more difficult than other days.” I asked her what was making this day hard. Susan replied, “The work is hard, and I have to make decisions about what goes where.” She continued on for a few seconds. I did my best to listen, aware that my final item had been scanned and the cashier was waiting for me to swipe my card. Looking into Susan’s eyes, and they were beautiful, I thanked her. I told her that I hoped tomorrow would be a better day for her. She did not respond but continued speaking, barely loud enough to hear. She looked off into the distance, this job complete, without her gaze connecting to anyone else’s. I smiled, wanting to linger for a few more moments with Susan, but I was aware of the presence of the cart behind me and the man pushing it, the impatience beginning to surface on his face as it had on mine.