Other People's Stories

This is the kind of thing that makes me happy.

The other day I was at Walmart. Walmart itself does not make me happy. In fact, there is nothing about Walmart that I find happy. I don't even find the smiley face button happy. I find it desperate.

But I had some things to pick up for the school, so I was there. And I was being checked out by this guy who I could have easily overlooked. There was nothing about him that seemed like he had an interesting story to tell. But to pass the time, I struck up a conversation about the upcoming Black Friday and how that must be kind of a nightmare to deal with. Which it was of course, will be of course.

"But I don't have to come in until 8," he told me. "Last year I had to come in at 4:30. This will be the first year since I've been here that I haven't come in at 4:30."

"How long have you been here?"

"Fifteen years. There's a group of us, who were the first employees when the store first opened."

Jesus. Really? I mean really? And then. Why not?

Then a woman walked over, and the three of us were talking, joined in by the woman behind me in line. The woman who also worked there, had been there less time. Only thirteen years. She and the guy started talking about whether the people who came in at 4:30 would be on break or on lunch when they came in. It was decided they would be on lunch, because otherwise the register would time them out.

"We dated for so long," the guy tells me, "That we still finish each other's conversations. We dated for eight years."

Now this is not that fascinating, and yet it is. Its an entire world inside this flourescent lit cube, that has played out over all these years. I can go through life saying "Hello, and have a nice day," to every stranger I meet, and that would be polite and proper. Or I can listen. I can ask people about themselves and enjoy the story that comes out, because how often in my life do I get to meet a couple whose entire relationship was played out inside a Walmart in Bristol Virginia. Beginning. Middle. End.

I wish I could remember that more. I wish I could remember how little I know. I wish I could remember how the surface rarely reflects the interior. I wish I could remember how interesting people are for the simple fact that they are living. Because life is endlessly interesting. Its like an equation that I understand only on alternate Fridays and in between its blankly convoluted. But really, its all very simple.

On another note, I am ecstatic because a short piece of fiction I rattled off and submitted to Red Line Blues which is this really cool literary journal published out of Asheville and Brooklyn was accepted for their next issue.

I am so grateful.