Parsely, Sage, Rosemary, And Time
ServiceSpace
--Janis Daddona
4 minute read
Jul 5, 2013

 

     When you see an opportunity to lend a hand and something steps between you and the recipient to prevent it, the feeling is one of deep loss.  This happened to me recently while at my local supermarket.  And it has preyed on my mind for the last day.
     The young woman in front of me seemed very pleasant.  She had purchased a few items, but the cashier was telling her she had the wrong kind of peanut butter by the time I took my place in line.  I was oblivious to the import of all this as the assistant manager, Rosemary, sent the cashier off to find "creamy" instead of "chunky."  I was wiling away the minutes rolling my eyes at some tabloid headline.  Rosemary then turned to the woman to say, "You can get 2% or skim milk but not whole.  You can't get the parsely with these either," and put the produce aside.  The young woman smiled and nodded pleasantly.  It was then that I noticed what she had--food stamps.  I suddenly felt a wave of sorrow for her.  In this program apparently one is not entitled to anything that has a whisper of luxury to it.  No rich-tasting whole milk.  No fun-to-crunch chunky peanut butter.  No perky parsely to liven up whatever paltry meal you are preparing.  
     So great was my own discomfort at seeing one item after another removed from the conveyer belt that I attempted to engage the woman in conversation just to make her feel like part of the human race.  I made a comment about the weather and looked at her with a smile.  She spoke very little English, and she made motions to convey that information to me, smiling back pleasantly, like one who is striving to keep her last shred of dignity intact.  Maybe I was overestimating the situation.  Nevertheless, I desperately wanted her to have that parsely, that emblem of something fresh, flavorful, and special.  I spoke to Rosemary, "I'll pay for this woman's parsely," as I reached into my wallet.  Her response astounded me.  Barely looking up from tapping keys into the register she glanced at the bundle and said, "She doesn't want it.  But thanks."
     She doesn't want it?!?!  If she didn't want it why would she have put it in her carriage?  I wanted to say just that in response and insist on paying for it, but I stood there stunned by her insensitivity.  The young woman finished her transaction, moved on, and I did as well.  My anger rose at Rosemary as well as myself for not taking charge of that opportunity to do something lovely for the customer.  Why would anyone be so thoughtless?  Anger was going to be useless now, but this was an opportunity to tap into my inner sage.  What wisdom and compassion could I possibly draw from this painful episode.  Could I find a better story with which to interpret this?  My sage did not fail me.  Rosemary was a victim too.  A victim of time.  Hers is a busy job: cashing checks, canceling out purchases, managing the cashiers, referreeing over a coupon dispute.  She was so focused on getting the task at hand completed that she literally did not see the opportunity to be compassionate.  She probably could not deal with me giving her money for an order that was being transacted with food stamps.  The whole business may have been so bloated with rules and protocols that it was better to let this opportunity go.  And in that moment, she lost herself.
     My sage realized that all three of us lost something in that moment, a moment crushed by the man-made demands of time...or at least how we perceive time.  You and I are often victims of this circumstance. At my recent retreat someone offered a definition of love.  It is not a feeling or an act.  It is simply seeing and being seen.  And out of seeing compassion grows.   We reconnect with our true self. 
     If I can wish you anything in those stressful times of your day it is the ability to see, just for a moment, the suffering of another.  If all you can do is smile or say a prayer, do it.  And, to paraphrase the rest of the song, Remember yourself with the one who lives there.

 

Posted by Janis Daddona on Jul 5, 2013


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