This I Believe: Small Things Like These

Why do we say "Thanks" each day?

At the cash register, do we say "Thanks" to the clerk behind the counter out of habit? I mean, if we don't mean it in the first place, then why do we even waste our breath?

I believe that a genuine "Thanks" can go a long way.

One day, I was at a Burger King with my mother -- yes, I do eat fast food occasionally. There I saw the crankiest lady taking orders.

"NEXT OVER HERE!" she hollered. Well, I guess the urgency in her voice really helped to move the clueless customers along pretty well -- it was my turn in no time flat.

But while I was waiting, I thought, "Why is she here? I wonder if she's got three kids, their daddy/daddies all left. She's gotta work two jobs, 80-hour weeks, standing on her feet until they hurt so bad she can't feel them anymore. She goes home in grease from the fries. It's so stubbornly stuck on her scalp that she just can't get it out anymore, like the honorary badge of hard work that no one wants. And what about her dreams? What did she want to do before she got here? What about her friends -- does she even have time for friends? What about her kids? I wonder if they love their mother enough, so that her efforts here and everywhere will at least be worth the while. Some people say it's the "Black Man's Burden" (or Black Woman's Burden, in this case), and maybe it's true. Or maybe it is just across the board everywhere in the world, where life just grinds the soul out of you."

I walked up there, intended to be nice. She stared at me with no intensity in her eyes. It was a weak, careless gaze that shows only half her spirit. I wonder where the other half is -- maybe far, far away where no one can go after her.

That's when I realized I was really no different to her than anyone else in line even though I understood maybe at least a small piece of her world -- at least I spent the time to wonder.

But I was also determined to make her life better for at least one second, so I did what no one else in line did.

I smiled ... from my heart.
I looked her in the eyes and smiled.

Then, the most amazing thing happened: her eyes brightened up.

Her eyes. Her spirit came back for a moment. And then she smiled, too.

Do you know how sacred that moment was? No, not just for me. I know it wasn't because it was a shared moment. She knew I was for real.

"Um, can I have the Number 5, please, with Coke?"
"Sure. That'll be $5.39."

She turned around to the French fry making machine. Maybe it was my imagination, but I might have detected something of a spring to her steps.

You know, maybe after all, we all just want to be reached out to. We all just want to be understood and be respected for just being present.

She handed me my food (ick, greasy, I know).

I looked at her in the eyes again and said, "Thank you very much!" Yes, thank you. I thanked her for being there because without her help, I would have been hungry. I thanked her for struggling to live so that people like me can live to dream. After all, it is people like her that make the foundation of a society -- the work that is undesirable still must be done. So really, fast food workers, construction workers, janitors, ... they are no better than I am, and I am no better than they are. We need each other.

Life is hard enough. If we can't make it at least a little bit easier on each other, then what's the point?

She smiled again. How she bloomed! And with a split second of hesitation, like she wondered if she was really meeting the first genuine person in ages, she said, "You're welcome."

"I can help whoever's next!" she said, but this time much gentler.

Just a thank you with a smile -- a genuine smile from the heart. This I believe.