A SURPRISE OFFER
Guest Post from Jeannie Ewing
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, avoiding eye contact with the older couple behind me in the Aldi checkout lane. Earlier that morning, I’d crossed paths with them in the bread aisle, and as I wheeled my cart past them, I caught a fragment of their conversation: “Those Serbian people are always so grumpy!”
For some reason, standing in the checkout lane always rattles my nerves. I suppose I feel some level of shame, taking up so much time and space with an overflowing cart of food that will hopefully nourish my family of seven for a couple of weeks. Typically this includes nine pounds of apples, three pounds of grapes, six to eight pounds of oranges, some pints of berries (if they’re on sale), four bunches of bananas—you get the idea. It’s basically exponentially more than shopping for one or two people.
The man glowered at me, then side-eyed his wife as he crossed his arms. I made eye contact with her pleadingly and offered a weak smile. She chuckled, shook her head, and I felt obligated to elaborate: “I have five kids, so that’s why I have so much in my cart.” She and her husband exchanged looks that, to me, seemed incredulous—eyes widened, speechless, mouths agape.
Like they’d never met a woman with five (or more) kids before.
Once I completed my transaction and checked out, I whisked my cart toward the exit as fast as I could. My cheeks were on fire with so much shame. Am I taking up too much space? Is our family too much in this world?
My thoughts were interrupted when I nearly rammed into another woman’s cart. “Oh, I didn’t see you there!” I said. “Go ahead.” I stopped my cart and waved her past me. She hesitated. “Are you sure?” she asked in a thick Eastern European accent. I nodded vigorously. “Yes, I wasn’t paying attention.”
She smiled, offered a slight nod, then made her way through the double doors. I was right behind her. The wind whipped viciously on that early February morning, and though I’d worn my heavy winter coat and insulated mittens, my nose numbed as I opened the hatch to our van and began unloading groceries in reusable shopping bags.
Suddenly, I turned around and the Eastern European woman stood right behind me. Startled, I jumped, and she asked, “Do you need help?”
I didn’t know what to say. I’ve been shopping at Aldi for eight years, and never has one person offered to help me load my groceries. Not one.
I hesitated, then said meekly, “Are you sure? I mean—“
She interrupted me. “Oh, honey, it’s no problem. It’s so cold out here today. Here, let me give you a hand.”
And with that, she made quick work tossing bags of baby carrots and boxes of cereal and packages of cheese slices into the open sacks I had laid out in the back of the van. Together, we finished loading groceries in less than ten minutes. She stood awkwardly as I shut the hatch door, so I said, “Thank you. No one has ever offered to help me before. You are so kind.”
She waved her hand in front of her face and stuck her lower lip out. “Oh, honey, it’s no problem. I have kids, too. I remember when they were young and ate all the time.” We laughed, and I waved goodbye to her.
After we parted ways, it occurred to me that the couple standing behind me in the checkout lane stereotyped—discriminated against—“those Serbian people,” classifying them as grumpy. Yet it was an Eastern European woman who offered a simple gesture of kindness that I will never forget, because it simply doesn’t happen in our culture.
And I wonder what might happen if we all threw away our assumptions about each other and instead responded to the moments we find ourselves in by asking, “What can I do to help? To be kind? To spread love today?”