I ran out of deodorant this morning, which is right up there with smoking my last cigarette: Taking care of that situation instantly moves to the top of my priority list. I’m home for a few days, and Preppy’s deodorant is right there in the medicine cabinet, but that simply won’t do. We use different brands. I associate that scent so closely with Preppy that if I use his, I spend all day distinctly aware that I smell wrong.So it was off to the neighborhood pharmacy, where I discovered yet another symptom of the economic downward spiral: Remember when stores had four or five people working the floor during business hours? Alas, those were the days. Now, everywhere I go there seems to be a skeleton staff- usually one or two harried employees attempting to meet the needs of the masses. I try to be as patient as possible when I encounter this scenario, as my fiancé is responsible for staffing retail with limited hours and I hear the daily horror stories.
I see the only apparent employee in CVS attempting to help a customer at one of those photo retouching kiosks. As best I can tell, the customer has brought every family photo taken in the last thirty years. Seriously, the guy has a cardboard box filled with picture frames. I find it intriguing that he didn’t even bother to take the pictures out of the frames before making the trip over. What sort of retouching emergency would have someone frantically pulling photos off the walls and dashing out the door? I’m more than happy to busy myself with his imagined back story while I wait at the register. Besides, I’m just here for a stick of Degree, and as long as nobody stands too close to me it’s not much of an emergency.
The elderly woman behind me with a cart full of discounted Easter candy, however, apparently has places to be. Important places where a shitload of Cadbury eggs will be required.
“I need help!” she screams to no one in particular. I’m not certain if she’s referring to the current circumstances, or just bemoaning her life. Both seem valid. Between her leopard-print blouse, plaid pants, and bright pink scarf, at the very least she needs the help of a stylist. Then she lets out a mournful moan, which rouses the attention of the lone employee.
“It’ll be just a moment,” she says, returning to the man with the photos.
“Oh, come on!” says Candy Lady, shuffling her feet like she has to pee. Which could be the source of her anxiety.
“I think they’re short-staffed,” I say.
“Oh, you think so?” she says with an arched eyebrow. “This is foolishness. She needs to get over here and do her job.”
“She is doing her job. It’s not her fault. She’s just the only one scheduled to work.”
Candy Lady responds with a disgusted snort, similar to the sound my friend Lori’s Great Dane makes. A moment later, the beleaguered CVS girl does make her way to the counter, apologizing for the delay. I feel a bony finger poking my shoulder.
“Can I go in front of you?” says Candy Lady.
I look at my one item, and her cart full of sweets. Before I can respond, the cashier speaks up.
“You can wait, ma’am.”
Candy Lady looks comically stricken.
“I am doing the best I can, ma’am,” the cashier continues. “I will be with you after I help this gentleman.”
Right now, we are all doing the best we can. The audacity of hope we had in January has led to a grim realization that nothing is repaired overnight, and sometimes things do get much harder before they get any better. Maybe it’s just me, but lately that’s a lesson I’ve had to digest in more areas than just the economy. But the lesson remains the same: Be patient, and remember that nobody has the market cornered on hardship. We are stronger when we work together. If we show a little kindness and charity, we’ll make it through.
