Sunday, May 25, 2003
THOSE MAGIC MOMENTS: Picture shopping for groceries at the neighborhood Associated late at night. On the checkout line with my mesclun salad, milk and rice pudding. The cashier is a middle aged Hispanic man working the late shift who brought his preteen daughter to work. She's at that age when little girls still think Daddy is the best. In a few years, she's probably be doing everything in her power to worry her father into an early grave, but for now, she's bagging the groceries he checks out. Sweet. So I'm watching her bag and gently giving pointers on which items to pack with which. You know, being careful to be helpful and giving dad a vibe that I'm enjoying pumping up his daughter's sense of the importance of her first "job." You've got to be careful here. If I seem to overbearing, the father will feel obligated to scold the well meaning lass and apologize to me for bringing his daughter to work, etc. Precious. As I took my bags and graciously thanked my helpful little bagger for a job well done, I noticed her "salary" jar and tipped my change into it. For a brief moment, we all shared something.