Supermarket Rage

Visiting my local supermarket to buy a well-earned—I woke up that morning, didn’t I?— macaroon, I approached the bakery counter with delicious anticipation. I was in no hurry and began enjoying the wait created by an off-in-dreamland clerk behind the display case. He was a young guy, probably no more than seventeen, and had that geeky-gangly way of boys who have yet to fit in their bodies. He was facing towards me, only a few feet away, in fact, but was off in wonderland—maybe dreaming of sex, video games or sports, perhaps all three— while half-heartedly packing some cream puffs. I gave him time. Like I said, I was in no hurry. But it was more than just the leisurely pace I had set for myself that made me patient. I felt akin to him.

There have been times in my on and off retail career where the last thing I wanted to do was serve a customer. It usually arose apropos of nothing. It was more like my daily quota of being at another’s beck and call had been reached, that one more “how can I help you” would have put me over-the-edge, created an indictable situation where there would be no turning back, no forgiveness given; no wry smiles shared. The problem, of course, is that it’s my job; so what do I do?

Over the years I have created various strategies for this problem but I have found the simplest is just to pretend I don’t see the customer. This not only gives me time to compose myself but also takes a small iota of power back—I’m the one in charge of my time, thank you very much, I’ll serve you when I am darn well ready to. Sure, it’s slightly passive-aggressive but as running out of the store in a wild rampage is generally out of the question, I figure it’s the least of my trespasses.

With this in mind, I gave the young feller some time. Who am I to complain if he was utilizing one of my yet to patented strategies... all the power to him. And, even if he was just traversing galaxies, he was having a pleasant moment in a humdrum job. So be it.

Then I was joined by another patron.

He was a man about my age, dressed in suit, tie and a stick, likely placed where the sun don’t shine. He looked at the kid, then at me, and with a smirk layered with a healthy dose of sarcasm commented that there seemed to be no one working that day. I shrugged and said, give him time, he’ll be here soon enough. His response was to bang the bell and yell: Hey! Hey!

You don’t have to be rude, I said.

Oh, f*ck off, said he.

And to my shame, I sunk to his level and told him to do the same. Supermarket rage at its finest.

I’ve experienced this type of impatience first hand when I worked for the Big Box hardware store. As a cashier I was often the butt of impatient sighs, not-so-subtle glares and continuous time checks on the wrist—and that, mind you, was when I was on the top of my game in speed and efficiency. (Go to The Modern-Day Renaissance Woman for a short but apt description of those who wait in line.) Some people, important people, that is, with important things to do, seem to consider standing in line for more than ten seconds a venal sin. But I feel it’s more than that. Supermarket rage is a symptom of a society failing to understand and be compassionate with the universality of the human condition.

I thought again of this incident at the supermarket after listening this past week to CBC Reads where five celebrities each defended a novel that they felt Canadians needed to read next. I was particularly struck by Humble The Poet’s defence of Fifteen Dogs.  In the book, several  dogs are gifted with human consciousness. What follows is the careful study of the human condition.Moreover, the poet argues that intelligence does not necessarily equate with evolution. It is a gift, he says, and a fleeting one at that.

"Everybody in this room has regrets, anxieties. Everybody in this room is struggling with the thoughts in their head, which ones they should believe [and] which ones they should not. Everybody in this room struggles with jealousy, irrespective of their race, their gender, their orientation, their economic background."

But what struck me most was when he defended the novel against the other books’ themes including that of climate change. He said, and I paraphrase, that to understand and begin resolving any of the issues that we face today is to know that we—humans—are the root cause. Only when we “know thyself” can we look at what internal changes need to be made to affect changes in our external environment.

What more needs to be said? Until we understand and have compassion for our (and everyone else’s) human frailties, we will, at the very least, descend into the inanities of supermarket rage and, at the most, continue to travel at breath neck speed into the tragedies of forced migration, violence and climate change. 

Our innermost issues are reflected in the world's problems. We cannot solve the latter without taking the time to look within.



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The Blossom

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O Earth

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Choice

It’s the contrast—night and day, black and white—where the problem lies.

In the forest I spy an alder leaf of last year’s growth. Dead, perhaps, for several months, it holds on, muddied with age and decay. Transforming: not really gone; not really alive. Beside it hangs a singular berry, moldy now with the rains of winter. It, too, hangs on, not yet willing to relinquish the space to the newly created. It’s a matter of surrender as to when they leave, the timing unique to each berry and leaf.

In their place, sometime soon I imagine, they will let go their tenacious hold on the past and begin anew—blending in with the earth—a rich humus to support and nurture whatever comes next.

In nature there is no black and white—everything is in transition of either coming or going: there is no definitive, only impermanence.

The same with humans. We are always changing, whether it be physically, mentally or emotionally, our beingness transforms. We are never really here … or there. Even in the deep stillness of meditation our cells continue to age while our senses ignite in awareness and our concept of oneness expands. We change.

This gives me hope.

I recently read a Guardian article which told of Australian author, Mem Fox’s, recent demeaning experience at US immigration. She had been to America 116 times before with nary a problem. But things have changed: people have changed.

So what gives me hope? Certainly not Ms Fox’s frightening experience or the abusive behaviour of the border agent.  No, what gives me hope it the certainty of change. For 116 times before, Ms Fox had, I would assume, if not positive experiences then neutral ones on her arrival in the US. This time was different. Governments have changed; rules and conduct have changed. We can look at it pessimistically and say, things have changed for the worse and I wouldn’t disagree, at least in this scenario. But I also know of people who have changed for the better, who are actively questioning the direction of the US President, who are becoming more aware, taking to the streets and revitalizing grassroots activism.

It’s all about choice.

And with choice, we can change.

  

We could say, with a black and white perspective, that the border agent and his colleagues were bad men. They certainly acted atrociously but that begs the question: were they always like that? If so, Ms Fox would surely have encountered some taste of this behaviour in previous trips. She denies this. No, I am more inclined to think that with an aggressive bully at the government’s helm, the agents have made a choice. They have chosen to change, and not for the better. But this is not what gives me hope.

What gives me hope is that we all make choices, every day, every moment of the day. Do we stay on the same path or do we walk this way, or that. Do we mimic those in power and abuse the folk we see as different or do we make new connections and find ways to unite? Do we change for the better or the worse or maintain status quo. We all have within us the capacity for evil. There is no monopoly on malevolent behaviour as there is none with altruism, kindness and respect . Nor is there permanence in these ways of being either. No one is good or bad, it’s not black and white. It’s a daily choice—one that needs practice.

So, what gives me hope is that more and more people are realizing that we do have a choice. We can say no. We can stand up to abuse; we can resist the temptation to abuse and we can make change.  We can help our neighbours, smile at a foreigner and support worthy causes. We can pick up litter, visit an elder and look beyond our job description and explore what it really means to relate to another.

There is no black and white. None of us are good or bad. It’s the choices we make, our responses to life, that determine our path and those with who we come in contact.

If you like this blog, please "like" my FaceBook page and get notices on your timeline when a new article is posted. 

Also check out my newest blog, the Modern-Day Renaissance Woman where you will find excerpts my new book, Notes from the Bottom of the Box: The Search for Identity by a Modern-Day Renaissance Woman.