beep. Beep! BEEP!!! The alarm went off again.
How many times had I already hit snooze?
I checked my phone and it blinked at 21:00. I slept through dinner and all that’s left were those Red Bulls from my last roadtrip in the fridge. Most food carts are closed by now, but if I hurried I could catch the grocery store before they called lights out for the night.
I made it in record time and glided through the sliding doors I’m always afraid to ram into.
Grocery dinners usually taste like frozen pizza and a six pack of Topo Chico mineral water. Both in stock. Yes!
The self-checkouts were closed so I hunted for an open register, eager to head home for another episode of Glow on Netflix. The number six flickerd at me and I rushed over. In my head, I’m lost in thought when I’m snapped back into the present by a voice.
“You find everything okay?” the cashier asked, clearly having uttered this question over a million times that it's lost its meaning.
Suddenly nervous from this interaction, I blurted out “I’m doing great, how are you?”
A silent pause. Shit. This is awkward. I take a breath and start over.
“Sorry, yes, I think I did. What’s your day been like?”
She lets out a heavy sigh as if this question had been weighing on her chest all day. I noticed her worn name tag that read Hi, my name is Angie. Ask me about my pup, with a smudged smiley face at the bottom. She looked about my grandmother’s age and I could sense the tiredness hiding behind her half smile.
“Not too bad, thankfully my shift is over in 30 minutes. I want to get home to my little furbaby. She’s probably shitting all over the place.” Angie said, hopefully as a joke.
We shared a laugh and the sensation feels foreign. It’s as if I’ve forgotten how it feels to connect with a complete stranger.
Our socialized walls crumbled as we spoke about the recent death of her husband. She’s heeding the advice of her children by taking in a furry companion to fill in the quiet house. It had only been six months since he passed, but I could feel her sorrow like her world fell apart yesterday.
I shared about my recent move to Portland and all the challenges that follow transitioning to a new state without any previous connections or sense of community to lean on. It never occurred to me how lonely I felt until this moment of genuine connection.
Suddenly our time was up when another cashier came up to ask about some stocking task. Unconsciously, we jumped back into the robotic routine of paying for the food.
Angie bagged my pizza and fancy water and sent me off with a chocolate bar at no extra charge. I thanked and congratulated Angie on the newest member of her family.
I loaded up my car and headed back home with a new sense of compassion that I don’t remember ever feeling after leaving a grocery store.
During the drive, I pondered all the moments I passed folks by on a daily basis, asking how they’re doing but not really meaning it. The times where I’ve felt too rushed to connect with a stranger or catch up with friends only a FaceTime call away. How are we the most connected we’ve ever been but more lonely than ever before?
Not every interaction allows for meaningful conversation at every turn, but that makes the moments when we take time to connect even more special.
So, how are you really doing?