Oh how I get depressed at the loss of all of the cool “Mom and Pop” stores we frequented when I was young. I miss them so much. Before the national and international specialty chain stores put locally owned, small businesses on the endangered species list, we could count on the ringing of the little jingle bell when we opened the door to the butcher shop, the stationery store, the hardware store or even the “little store.” Every neighborhood had a “little store.”
A friendly greeting from the smiling proprietor reminded us that we were friends — that we belonged there. They knew my mom’s name and sometimes knew mine as they rubbed my butch haircut.
Nowadays the big corporate stores try to emulate the good old days, but it’s rarely anything more than a rote, obligatory “Have a nice day!"
I’ve learned to live with it, however.
Today, my experience with an employee at the Burbank, California, Home Depot sent me out the door in tears. I was still sniffling and wiping my eyes when I got to my car. It became clear to me that I must share this experience.
Sure, there were Home Depot “associates” who asked me if I needed any help finding stuff. I didn’t get in their face or anything. In fact, I smiled and no-thanked them. I found the planting pots and the outdoor potting soil I needed and carried them to the cashier whose behavior would make a grown man cry.
I paid for my purchase with the Home Depot gift card my son gave me for my birthday (thanks again, David), and then I remembered to show my Veterans Administration I.D. card so that I could take advantage of the 10 percent discount they give to disabled veterans.
Just so you’ll know, the cashier’s name is Stephen Comprera. I actually went back inside the store to get his last name. After all, the guy make me cry — me, he had made a grown man cry!
But back to the original transaction.
“Thanks you,” he said. I know for a fact that he’s supposed to thanks me. But then he reached out to shake my hand. I shook it, but I was beginning to think he was either crazy or mocking me or something.
“You’re shaking my hand for buying stuff from you?” I said to him with an expression I’m sure made me look like a grumpy, non-believing skeptic.
“No,” he said as he looked me in the eye in all seriousity. “I’m thanking you for your service to our country.”
As I type this, I’m getting a runny nose again and my eyes are sweating or something.
I didn’t see it coming, and I knew he meant what he said.
You’re welcome, Stephen. And thanks for not saying, “Have a nice day.” Thanks instead for giving me a wonderful day.
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