We waited in line at the home improvement centre Customer Service Desk for a chance to get some quotes on a deck package and patio doors. Today was a beautiful, hot, summer Sunday, and garden centres and home stores were insane with customers.

“I can help you over here in just a second, folks,” a sales clerk waved and called to us from the back counter, and then had two of the other staff members immediately grab his attention and ask for his advice and help with their own customers. We listened as he calmly and ably multi-tasked between them all.

Good service has been getting increasingly hard to find in our city’s news-making labour shortage. Friendly and knowledgeable service is like gold. We immediately liked this 50-something year old guy, and when I noticed that his name tag read “Ziggy”, I was somehow even more charmed.

“This is the third, isn’t it?” he asked us as he finished off the form he was filling out.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s hard to believe we’re into June already.”

“Halfway to Christmas,” Ziggy commented with a grin.

“Ack! Don’t even say things like that,” I playfully scolded him.

“Oh, no, I can’t wait for winter! I don’t like all this heat,” he explained. “Look at me – I’ve already got enough of a tan for this year.”

Bright eyes shone with laughter from a face that I then realized was Black.

—–

Running a bit late, Doc started pumping the gas into the car and I went inside to pay. I hadn’t timed it quite right so I had to wait a few minutes until my husband had the tank filled. The attendant sat behind the security glass and never said a word while I stood quietly in the otherwise empty pay booth.

I could see Doc hang up the nozzle outside, so I went over to window.

“Pump number three, please,” I said, and handed him my debit card.

The attendant silently rang up the sale and started to hand me the debit machine keypad, but paused halfway.

Aaaa….aaachooo!!

“Bless you,” I said automatically.

The attendant, who I would guess by his colouring and the turban he wore to be perhaps of Afghanistan or Iran or some similar geographical heritage, cocked a single eyebrow at me and held the pause dramatically.

I looked at him and saw the corner of his mouth raise ever so slightly, and just the merest hint of a crinkle beside his eyes. His expression clued me in pretty quick but I spread my hands in the universal “questioning” gesture and cocked my own eyebrow back at him. I could feel a smile that I hadn’t planned grow on my face.

“Or… hmm, let’s see… gesundheit?!?” I offered, at a bit of a loss.

His eye crinkles deepened and the corner of his mouth twitched as he placed the keypad down softly in front of me.

——-

Intent, people. Can we please, as a society, just make an effort to look beyond the immediate surface and consider intent? Life is WAY more fun and friendly when we do.

The amateur anthropologist in me can’t help but wonder – is this something that we’ve forgotten in our “fast-paced, can’t wait, I want everything now, every man for himself” culture? Or has it always been human nature to use it as a handy excuse, and just choose not to bother?