In which I am plied with clothing by a stranger.
Lots of good things this weekend. I would like to dwell briefly on one event, however:
Yesterday morning, Jo and I went to Zenith for brunch. It was tasty. Afterward we hustled over to the Goodwill on the South Side so that Jo could get some picture frames. We leafed through XL shirt after XL shirt, looking for smalls that might fit us. I found a nice plaid short sleeve shirt and decided to roll with it. We went to the checkout.
There was a considerable line, so a second cashier opened up and Jo moved over to that line. I stayed and after the greasy dude in front of me took forever to pay for all his ridiculous stuff, I laid down my shirt and began counting out $3.50 (I had about $3.80 in my possession at the time.) At this point, as the cashier threw the shirt in a bag, the middle-aged woman behind me thrust a $20 bill forward and said: "I'll take care of this one, honey."
As you might imagine, I had no clue what was going on.
"What?" I asked, as politely as one can ask that question.
"I'll pay for it. Don't worry about it."
"Uhhh . . . thanks! Errr . . ."
"Gotta do something nice every once in a while!"
Indeed you do. "Uhhh . . . thanks!" I said again, head cocked to the side like a curious puppy. I scuttled away.
Immediately I felt sort of like my reaction was inappropriate or something. I felt sort of like I had to reciprocate, but I had no way to do so. Jo asked if she had asked me on a date. Was I supposed to hug her or something? Did I just look poor? I mean, sure, I was scraping for change to pay, but I had more in the bank! Perhaps she thought I had just royally fucked up the choice between having money to eat dinner that night and buying a new shirt.
Instead of feeling self-conscious about, I guess I'm just supposed to pass it along. It's kind of like one of those annoying chain e-mails, only a little nicer.
Yesterday morning, Jo and I went to Zenith for brunch. It was tasty. Afterward we hustled over to the Goodwill on the South Side so that Jo could get some picture frames. We leafed through XL shirt after XL shirt, looking for smalls that might fit us. I found a nice plaid short sleeve shirt and decided to roll with it. We went to the checkout.
There was a considerable line, so a second cashier opened up and Jo moved over to that line. I stayed and after the greasy dude in front of me took forever to pay for all his ridiculous stuff, I laid down my shirt and began counting out $3.50 (I had about $3.80 in my possession at the time.) At this point, as the cashier threw the shirt in a bag, the middle-aged woman behind me thrust a $20 bill forward and said: "I'll take care of this one, honey."
As you might imagine, I had no clue what was going on.
"What?" I asked, as politely as one can ask that question.
"I'll pay for it. Don't worry about it."
"Uhhh . . . thanks! Errr . . ."
"Gotta do something nice every once in a while!"
Indeed you do. "Uhhh . . . thanks!" I said again, head cocked to the side like a curious puppy. I scuttled away.
Immediately I felt sort of like my reaction was inappropriate or something. I felt sort of like I had to reciprocate, but I had no way to do so. Jo asked if she had asked me on a date. Was I supposed to hug her or something? Did I just look poor? I mean, sure, I was scraping for change to pay, but I had more in the bank! Perhaps she thought I had just royally fucked up the choice between having money to eat dinner that night and buying a new shirt.
Instead of feeling self-conscious about, I guess I'm just supposed to pass it along. It's kind of like one of those annoying chain e-mails, only a little nicer.
posted by andybot at 10:56 AM
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