The last time I thanked someone was yesterday. We were at Wal-Mart and I thanked the cashier before we left.
Usually I don’t make eye contact with cashiers. I’m not sure why, maybe because I shopped for an hour with the kids and I just want to get out of there. But it was Thursday and Wal-Mart wasn’t a crowded madness as usual. So I took some time to study my subject.
She had blue eyes outlined with black eyeliner and slightly caked mascara. I guessed her age as 50. Her blond hair dried out at the ends. She probably likes her job because she didn’t have a look of boredom like the younger kids.
I also guessed she was into disco in the seventies, loved Saturday Night Fever, then Grease, then Urban Cowboy. Everything John Travolta. She wore slinky dresses back when women wore nice dresses to the discotheque.
Maybe her kids are grown and she has a few grandchildren, and she picks up a few things at Wal-Mart for them. Perhaps she stocked up on Fourth of July supplies when they first came in to the store.
For that I thanked her after she bagged my groceries and said, sincerely, to have a great day.