The Nicest People

Last week, I devoted a week of my summer to honing the craft that pays the bills: I attended a teacher-workshop.  We were given an hour and a half for lunch.  I have to say that because when you account for bathroom time and hall duty, our school-year lunch time is approximately 13 minutes.  If we hit 20 minutes, we know we've forgotten something.


During my hour and a half lunch, I took full-advantage.  I made my almost-daily run to Hellmart.  I shopped the sale ad at the local drug store and stocked up on toilet paper and cleaning supplies that would gather dust under my sink.  I browsed the aisles of Christmas goodies that are already out of my local hobby haven.  Then when my hour and a half was coming to a close, I swung by my favorite super-gas-station place and grabbed a large cup of crushed ice with water.

I'm not at all embarrassed to tell you that I did that almost every single day of my training.  It's the little things, my friends!

Wednesday was a little bit different.  I had to run home for just a moment before heading back out to claim my alone time.  Sure, it caused me to be rushed, but I was going to get my kicks when I could get 'em.

At Hellmart, I checked out and the cashier said, "Did you find everything you needed, Heather?"

I started to answer and then stopped, looking closely at her face. Did I know her? Was she a former student? A former parent? A former classmate? My neighbor? I didn't answer her, that I recall; instead I freaked her out by studying her face.

"Stocking up on toilet paper, Heather?" the cashier asked me as I pushed my cart full of the good, two-ply stuff through her line. I furrowed my brows and chewed the inside of my cheeks.  As at Hellmart, I studied her face, and I was certain I didn't have a clue as to who she was.

My final stop of the day was my favorite drink stop.  Well, second favorite but only because they didn't have amaretto sours. I got my cup full of crushed ice and filtered water and headed to the front.

"Did you find everything you needed, Heather?" the sweet 20-year-old, future assistant manager asked.

He wasn't even remotely familiar.  "Do I know you?" I asked, completely perplexed and horrified that I had, that quickly, become a familiar face.

"Ummm... I'm actually from Missouri.  Are you from Missouri?" he asked.

"No."

"Probably don't know me then," he smiled.

I'm so not a sophomore...
it took my three times to get
this self-pic.

"Do you know me?" I asked.  This was essentially the same question, but I honestly wondered if I had my name tattooed on my forehead or if I had a floating neon sign above my head or if I had a name tag on.

Oh... Wait... I had a name tag on.

"Well," the helpful cashier said, "Your name tag says 'Heather', so I thought I'd just call you by name."

I had found my Cheers.  But only if I wore a name tag.