Seeing as I had not turned on my television in 4 or 5 months, I finally cancelled the non-cable-but-still-get-the-news-and-the-Simpsons-on-local-channels television portion of my U-Verse account. I think that takes off about $20 each month – that’s enough to buy 120 limes when they’re in season. Or 200 key limes when they are in season and on sale. While on hold with AT&T waiting to speak to a human, I marveled at the image of the spread of key lime pies my savings could produce. I wondered if they had key lime festivals in Florida – including best pie, Miss Key Lime, and best marinade with key limes cook-off.
When I pulled into the otherwise full strip center parking lot, I spotted an empty spot directly in front of the store. I was almost expecting to see a sign with my name on it. While I consider it a bothersome practice to circle around looking for a close-to-the-door spot, there seems to be something magical that happens between the consumer and the store when the consumer finds a close-to-the-door spot. It makes one feel welcome, expected. Like a neatly decorated place card at a dinner party given by a cherished friend.
When I got out of my vehicle, my eyes were immediately engaged with a set of frighteningly rhinestone-studded flip-flops, worn by a woman who was also wearing a displeased look on her face. I stepped inside, television unit thing in hand. It smelled like a combination of dog shit and new, cheap carpet. And there was some tapping – no rhythm, just random… but persistent – coming from a wall of the store. The rhinestone flip-flop woman then walked in. She had anger about her, so I stepped back – I figured something happened and her transaction had not been completed to her satisfaction. The noise from the wall kept making itself known. I stared at it in an effort to survey the happenings, in hopes of discovering the source.
There was a man in front of us sending Folgers coffee, paper towels, and some other items to someone in Pennsylvania. He spent about $40 to send what appeared to be about $38 worth of products. He knew the address and shared it with a conviction of someone who loves another – the recipient.
When he was done, the rhinestone flip-flop woman stepped forward – I tried to make eye contact with her to let her know that I understood that while she walked back into the store after I’d been waiting in line for a few minutes, she was probably wrapping up what she’d recently stepped out on. But she did not meet my eyes.
It was then my turn. I handed over my television device thing with power cord. Matt asked if I was returning an AT&T device – I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked him for knowing, then said that I was, indeed, returning such device. There was something about this guy that just got to me - he seemed genuinely happy. I said to him, “You seem un… unusually happy to be at work. On a Saturday.” He smiled. I went on to add, “There's something... you seem to be smiling. Even when you’re not smiling.” He smiled even wider and said, “Well, I hope it’s contagious.” I assured him that it was.
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