Walmart

“I’m not sure how …,” the man in front of me mumbled. His grey-hair and Vietnam Veteran cap led me to conclude he was in his mid to late seventies.

Against the other noises — general shuffling of feet, shoppers talking, overhead announcements — I heard the faint sounds of the scanner each time the cashier dragged one of the man’s items across the glass. Nothing fancy, mind you — the stuff of living.

Generic loaf of sandwich bread. Beep.

(Short pause)

Pre-packaged baloney. Beep.

(Slightly longer pause as the clerk worked to align the bar code with the laser reader)

Small bottle of dish soap, lemon scented. Beep.

“Well … ,” he continued, “does it, mmmph, go this way?” the tremor in his hand preventing the card from sliding into the slot. From my vantage point, I could see it wouldn’t have worked anyway as the EMV chip was facing the wrong direction.

A few moments earlier, I’d overhead the veteran speaking to another man around the same age.

“I was just a grunt,” he shared, his tone matter-of-fact. Patting his jeans just above the knee, “Got to come home after I lost my leg.”

Once again the scanner beeped, adding a bag of store-brand “baby” carrots to his other purchases.

Behind me in line, a young girl whispered, “Mama, I think that man needs help.” She was standing close to her mother, a well-loved, white teddy bear in hand. Her brother had just replaced a candy bar on the snack shelf outside the check stand. “I’m sorry, honey,” his mother said, “I’ve only got enough for essentials this time.” He didn’t protest, saying only, “OK Mom.”

As I turned back toward the head of the line, the cashier announced, “Fifty-eight, twenty seven,” and then, without looking up, “Cash or card?”

“I’m sorry?” the man replied, leaning forward and cupping his ear.

Speaking louder and more slowly, “C a s h or c a r d, hon?”

“I’d like to use this card, but … ,” turning the card around and over, “it won’t go in the machine.”

I watched as he shifted his weight, the discomfort of his prosthetic obvious. “Stupid war,” I thought silently to myself — and I was still thinking that when the girl with the teddy bear hurriedly brushed by me.

“I can help you,” she exclaimed, adding, “I know how to do it.” Taking the card from the man, “This part here has be up and pointing this way, like it shows in the picture on the machine.”

“Now isn’t she the smart, little shopper,” the clerk remarked as the card slid successfully into the slot, “Good job, hon. G o o d job!”

Shifting his weight once again, the man leaned over, catching the eyes of the girl. “Thank you,” he said, “I would never have figured out how to make this work by myself.”

Returning his words with a smile, she rejoined her family, standing close to her mother’s side, teddy bear in tow.

I watched as the man left, briefly turning back to wave at the young helper.

Two beeps in rapid succession followed, drawing my attention back to the clerk.

“Is that everything?” she asked.

“It is,” tapping my card on the reader.

Smiling as she handed over my receipt, “Well, then, you have yourself a nice day.”

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