A Warning To All Adolescent Male Grocery Cashiers

Keep in mind that I am not, by any means, a feminist, but tonight, I am feeling a bit snarky.

As if going to Walmart and grocery shopping for a family of four wasn't thrilling enough, tonight I was faced with a situation that, I feel, warrants a documentation of the inner monologue I was having after an adolescent male cashier asked me, "So, do you have a husband waiting for you at home?" Bad idea, man. Bad idea.

No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Just me. No husband, but thank you for reminding me of that fact. I appreciate it. As if I didn't have a long enough day, now I have to come here, alone (no husband, of course), to shove an overflowing cartful of stuff around, that now I have to be subjected to you, someone who is likely legally a juvenile, reminding me of my place in life, and/or attempting to hit on me. Bravo.

Oh wait, now you're probably wondering, "My goodness, woman! This heap of groceries is just for you?" Wrong again, blondie. Can I call you "Chad"? You look like a "Chad" to me. Well, Chad, not only do I not have the husband you inquired about, but I'm a single mom to three kids. Doesn't that just sound rad, Chad? I'll bet you're looking forward to the day when you, yourself, get to drop nearly $200 out of your teeny-tiny paycheck every week, to buy groceries, huh? It's fantastic, let me tell you.

Yes, Chad, I am without a husband. Please, oh please don't try to make up for your inappropriate question by asking if I have a boyfriend. You have dug yourself into a hole, and there is no getting out of it now. Nope, no boyfriend, either, Chad. Just me. Did you see anything in this cart that would indicate that I have a boyfriend? Had you been more observant, you would've noticed the bag of chocolate gem donuts and a few TV dinners, which are both standard-issue Single Mom With No Man In Her Life Equipment. Do those things just scream "romance" to you, Chad? Do they? Didn't think so.

Man, look at all of these groceries, Chad! Can you believe it? $178-worth of stuff. Oh, c'mon, you don't have to try to make me feel better by saying that I got a lot for $178. You can't redeem yourself, and you know it. The can of worms has been opened, and you have unleashed the fury of a single working mom, now. Time to just shut your mouth and nod your head, Chad, if you know what's good for ya. Two giant bags of dog food, this week's groceries, food-drive items, and would you believe that I get to unload all of this stuff by myself when I get home? That's all because of the husband I don't have, remember? Just me, unloading my groceries, eating my donuts, Chad. Man, I'm so glad you reminded me. I nearly forgot.

Yes, Chad, I'm going to pay for this stuff, out of my teeny-tiny paycheck, load it all into my trunk, hope I don't get mugged in the parking lot (since I don't have a big, strong man to protect me), and drive home, so I can make twenty trips to and from my car to drag it all inside, all when every other woman on the planet is sitting down to have a nice dinner with their husband, who is waiting for them at home. Thank you, Chad. Thank you so much for reminding me that I don't actually need someone waiting for me at home, because I'm doing just fine, all by myself.

Dear Casey

Dear Casey,

I've been composing this in my head for weeks now, but, of course, you already know that. I can almost see you, squirming a little, trying so hard to come up with something sarcastic to say, a way to tease me for dwelling one it, but uncharacteristically able to combat my sincerity with any sort of suitable quip. Your heart was just too good for that. Bet you didn't know I knew that.

I've been thinking about you a lot lately, but, of course, you already know that, too. You're probably sick of seeing me, visiting you so often these days, and I'm sure the groundskeepers think I'm crazy, sitting there, undisturbed by the cool morning temperatures. The bench is nice, by the way. I think I've told you that. I'm glad they put it in, although it's frightfully cold to sit on, and I'm fairly confident that amuses you. I always figure that, when my butt goes numb on the cold marble, it's your way of telling me to go. It always seemed too formal to have to stand over you like that, anyway. So many timesI just felt like I should plop down on the grass instead, but I didn't figure you'd appreciate me sitting on you.

Yes, you've been on my mind so much, and I can't quite place why. Maybe it's because it's just that time of year. I can't believe it's been three years already. So much has happened since then, man-- I wouldn't even know where to start, but, of course, you know that, too. I know you've been here. Thanks. Just in the last couple of days, you've dropped in on me at work, in ways that have made the things in the room seem to almost go silent. Way to go, man. So often in the mornings, there you are, with a way to make me laugh, and you always have a way of letting me know it's you. That's funny, because you never struck me as a morning person. Oh well. Oh, and my good hair days?-- Yeah, well, those are all yours too, you know. Don't worry. I think it's fantastic that you can be hair-obsessed, even now.

I don't know. Maybe I've been unable to shake you because I'm getting my second chance at life, when you barely got one chance at your own. It's always easy for us to forget how fortunate we are in life-- to be alive, to embrace what we have, no matter how small or silly it all may seem. I got to turn thirty. You didn't. I got to have kids. You didn't. It doesn't seem fair to me, sometimes, that someone like you, so vibrant and who lived life with such zeal, wasn't given the gifts that I was given, when I'm not even half the personality that you were. Sometimes I think God takes the good ones in order to remind us how to live. Life is a gift, and it's sad that so many of us resent the lives we've been given, never satisfied, and always looking for something more or better, holding out for the big ticket, when it's all right in front of our face already. Our gift is today, not tomorrow.

I miss you. I miss you a lot. Sure, roll your eyes and "pssssh" me all you want. I can hear your voice as plain as day sometimes, you know, and see that cocky little strut you exuded with every move you made. It was a show, albeit an entertaining one. I'll give you that. I knew it then, and I know it now, and that's why I know that, while it would be in your character to try to find a way to give me a hard time for writing this, that at the heart of it all, you'd be touched. I know that's why you drop little reminders for me in the strangest places, because you'd never be able to actually find a way to drop the act, even now, and say, "Thanks, Hill, for thinking of me."

It isn't fair, what happened, but clearly we're not supposed to think it's fair. That's not the point. We're supposed to be reminded of the unexpected nature of life, and how life comes down to moments and choices. You made a choice that night, and it defined who you were. You dropped the act, for the sake of someone else, and we should all be so lucky to have that opportunity. It isn't about it being fair. It's about being fortunate enough to be chosen to have those defining moments in the first place. We don't have to go out and seek to save someone's life every day, in order to define ourselves, but we can choose to live each day, searching out ways to let the true nature of who we are radiate onto the world around us, and that's exactly what you did.

I know that it's okay that you're gone. I know that-- I just hate it. I can't let go of it, even three years later. Maybe I should be glad that I haven't. That's why I still drop by, I guess-- for you to help me understand somehow, for those little reminders that help me put it all in perspective. Don't get me wrong-- you know I look to God for my ultimate perspective, but sometimes I need someone like you-- someone a little more tangible, to dumb-it-down for me, to speak my language, to whack me upside the head, to make me laugh, to make me quit feeling sorry for myself, to help me along. In three years, you've never let me down, and it is because of that, that I write this to you. Thanks. Love you, man.

http://new.music.yahoo.com/other-desert-cities/tracks/walk-with-me--176773525