Harried. Harriedier. Harriediest.

Seems like I spend a *lot* of time here.

Thanksgiving, last year, I made a woman r-e-a-l-l-y angry at the HEB supermarket. It was a whole week before Thanksgiving Day, and I was buying as much of what I needed as I could, beginning to get ready for our guests–both sons, both daughters-in-law, my sister and brother-in-law, my niece, and one of her roommates.

I had some coupons, and there was some discussion between the cashier and me about what I’d bought and how many, and we were looking at the checked items to be sure. The lady behind me became annoyed, rolled her eyes, sighed long and theatrically, and finally said, with a rather loud voice, as though she were trying to get the attention of some manager, “Isn’t there a different lane to take care of ones like this?” (Yes, “ones like this.”) I bristled a little, but looked back at her with a little “sorry” expression and a shrug of apology. She glowered.

I looked at her groceries, already on the belt. There weren’t very many and I said, “There are lanes for people with just a few items. You could try one of those.” And truly, I tried to sound as nice and kind as I could. She scowled some more and said, with haughtiness, “I don’t get into those lanes if I have more items than I’m supposed to.” Yes, she may have had twelve items instead of ten, but when those lanes are empty, I’ve had store employees pull me on over there to reduce congestion at the more crowed lanes. Anyway, she wasn’t in a mollifying mood, so I let it go.

With the questionable coupon issue resolved, the cashier began scanning the rest of the coupons, and I stepped forward to begin putting my groceries into the reusable bags that I try to remember to take with me into the store each time I shop.

I know it can take a little longer to sack up the food with those bags, so I always try to help, to speed things along. Even though I was at the store pretty early, things were already busy, and there wasn’t a bagger at my lane. I was hurrying along with that when the cashier subtracted the last coupon, totaled up my bill, told me what I owed, and began to work on bagging up the rest of my things. I turned around to step back to the register to pay, but, oh dear, the exasperated lady had pushed her cart up, when I had moved forward. She was in my way. I tried a compensatory smile as I said, “I need to pay.”

It would have been an unfortunate thing if she had had high blood pressure or some other sort of health problem, because that was just piling on the aggravation. She scooted back, terribly irritated by now. I stepped up to the register and quickly wrote out my check. I had planned to write it for more than the amount of purchase, because I needed some cash, but I thought, “She’ll just get out a knife and kill me right here, if I prolong this any longer.” So, I wrote it for the exact amount and handed it over. When the checker gave me my receipt, I grabbed it from her, picked up my keys, and scampered away with my cart.

Just for reference, these are *my* keys. In case you’re ever in a big ol’ hurry

I was just at the doors of the store when I heard, “Maam! Maam! Maam!” I stopped and turned around to see if I was the “Maam” in question. Yes, indeed, I was. My checker came running up behind me. Did I forget to pick up a bag? I hoped not, because I truly did not want to go back to that lane and encounter that infuriated shopper again.

“Did you pick up the wrong keys?” the checker asked. I looked at the keys in my hand. They were not my keys. The fuming lady had put her own keys on the little check-writing stand next to the cash register when she walked forward, and had neglected to pick them up again when I needed her to move back so I could pay. In my anxiety, I thought they were mine and snatched them up to try to make as quick a getaway as I could. Sheepishly, I handed them over to the checker and said, “Thanks for coming to get them. She’s already so angry with me…”

As I was putting my groceries in the  car, I really did pray for her–for her to have a good rest of the day (maybe she was going on home where she wouldn’t have to deal with any other aggravating people). I prayed for calm and peace and a good holiday season for her. Then I thought about what I should have done (I am great at thinking of those things when it’s too late to do them). I should have stood outside the HEB door and waited for her and apologized and prayed with her right there. I’m not sure she would have appreciated it, though, and she might have scratched my eyes out with her keys. Maybe the way I did it was better.

If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.
Romans 12:18 (NRSV)

I’ve still got a couple of things to wrap and mail, and, I’m serious, a couple of knitting projects to finish, but not much else, so I think it’ll all get done. If it does, great. It if doesn’t, well, Christmas will come. And it will be blessedly and peacefully wonderful, whatever tasks I’ve done or not done. Oh, yeah. The Christmas cards…