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A Cookie

October 26, 2016

It all started because a sandwich is not a sandwich without the crunch of crisp lettuce. But, as always, there was the gluttonous gantlet of compulsive buying at the checkout and I ended my dart-and-dash with a plastic box of yesterdays, freshly baked cookies. 

Here is where the story begins. 

      As I waited to pay for my dietary needs I watched a frazzled young mother ahead of me, she had an enfant strapped to her chest and five more, from not very old to even younger, buzzing around her legs, hanging from the shopping cart and all in various stages of need. I felt this was probable her norm. I did not notice who was behind me. She finished at the checkout and slowly moved trying desperately to manage her brood. 

     Now enter me. I am what I am, built for comfort with a splash of expression. I was wearing flip-flops, Thai fisherman pants that to the unknowing are to short, but to the knowing are the most comfortable pants made, a sleeveless shirt I found in a Nicaraguan surf shop and my straw Panama hat with a small Grateful Dead pin on the hat band. To accentuate this look of freedom, my full sleeve tattoo was exposed as well as all my other shinny bits and pieces. 

     I paid for my groceries and as I stepped towards this young family, for really no particular reason, I reached into my recycle bag and pulled out the cookies. Asking the mother if I may, she awkwardly watched me finish opening them and said, “yes.” As I offered each child a cookie, each one politely said, “thank you.” I bid the mother a good day and as I was walking towards the automatic doors, I turned as I heard, “well I’ll be!”

     The person behind me, that I had not noticed waiting in line, was an older ultraconservative looking gentleman in freshly pressed and creased clothing, a perfectly tied, tie and an immaculately clean and tidy look about him. I’m sure he had noticed me waited in line, in the wake of the slightest scent of patchouli. But, any thoughts he might have been building I believe were diminished with the witnessing of a small, random act of kindness. To paraphrase an old saying, what is inside an old book, is not always what is seen on the cover and perhaps a minuscule step towards the eradication of assumption. – dbA

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One Comment leave one →
  1. October 26, 2016 11:48 am

    “this look of freedom” – what a great way to describe your comfy outfit. Love it!

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