Jerry went on to park after I got out at the main entrance of the store: I hadn’t many things to buy and he would wait in the car. I had placed a few items in my cart as I whipped through several grocery aisles, and now I stood before the eggs. We don’t eat many eggs–Jerry and I–and I do only a small amount of baking in our motor home these days, but we had only one left in the fridge, so I should buy a carton of the fine contributions that chickens make to the food chain.
Usually I buy the large size, but the container where my hands landed was stocked with medium-sized ones, and I thought: Medium is good enough, maybe even a little better. One or two less calories and a slightly reduced cholesterol dose. Besides that the carton was pink and pretty, and the price seemed okay: $2.29 for one dozen.
I knew a clerk was standing beside me for there was a stock cart close, and I turned my head now and saw that the young man was looking at me. He had blond curly hair, and he smiled.
“We have these on special, Ma’am. One ninety-nine…for 20 eggs.”
“Oh, good, I’ll take those.” I replaced the pink carton, and he handed me a large, flat container of 20 extra-large eggs. I smiled.
Know something! People are really nice. They’re pleasant, helpful, and caring. As I walked toward the check-out counter, I thought of the small–perhaps to some inconsequential–interchange that had just evolved, and I must tell you it warmed my heart. A young man, perhaps barely a tender beard, had seen a short little-ole lady checking out eggs nestled in a pink Styrofoam container, and knowing he could save her a few pennies, had acted on the thought.
Neat, wouldn’t you say.
Shirley Buxton 