tales from register 1

My job brings me closer to God. It's the simple act of waking up in the morning and putting on that ridiculous orange shirt. It's the simple act of human contact and letting your grandma yell at me for 5 minutes straight because her coupon has been expired since 1987. It's simple act of smiling and nodding politely and praying that she doesn't get run over in the parking lot for being such an unreasonable bitch.

Nana and I used to watch a sitcom called Joan of Arcadia on Fridays. It starred the girl from the Traveling Pants movies. Ever since that show went off air; that girl vanished from the prime time television. Maybe she will pop up sooner or later in some crappy lifetime flick. Give her about 10 more years and a few cesarean sections. The whole concept of Joan of Arcadia was that God would appear to her human form as some random stranger. One week it would be the desperate locker room victim of the high school football team; the next it would be the homeless junkie who has a knife to your mom's throat. The show was unusually deep theme for 2003... a time when everyone was so crazed in the whole jihadist weapons of mass destruction war on terror let's bomb people fiasco. Perhaps a sense of empathy was exactly what this country needed at that point in time. It's a absolute shame that religious tuned anthems are voided from our television sets only to be replaced by MTV fist pumping induced garbage. Apparently, teenagers that talk to God are just not cool enough for modern America.

However, I hold this crazy belief that no one is truly alone in this world. It is important never to take any kindness for granted because we simply do not know what goes on in the lives of others. Everyone goes through so much in their lives. So much that other people do not see. We become so self obsessed and personal. We become totally ignorant to one another. We forget this even in the most casual conversation. Perfect example. I was ringing up a man's lunch the other day. He had that typical senior citizen look to his face. The kind that comes in the form of wrinkles and the so assumed World War II veteran outlook. His jaw line sagged with bitterness. He looked so particularly miserable and seniorish that I assumed he was just being a typical rude old man. Angry and thinking the world owes him something. So upon parting with this grump, I told him in the most obnoxious blatant manner to have an utterly phenomenal day. He told me was just diagnosed cancer. I always choke on irony. And my words.