The cashier looked over my shoulder as he brushed my box of Triscuits over the scanner. A funny sort of smile crossed his face, and he gently shook his head. It was one of those slight smiling head-shakes you give when you hear on the news that some poor bastard was shot and killed in an armored car robbery. You didn't know him, or his family, but some small part of you inside still feels for them, and you give that sad little face of empathy and gently shake your head.
I looked over where he was looking, but saw only other shoppers and other cashiers at other check stands. Nothing of note.
"What?" I asked him gently.
"Huh?" He was embarassed. It seemed he had been having what I call a public-private moment, and forgot himself in it. I had shocked him out of his reverie.
"What was that little face you just made all about?" I asked with a soft smile, as you might ask a scared child.
"Oh. Sorry. When you've worked here a while you just start to notice things."
Again, I turned and looked but did not see what had grabbed his attention.
"Well, what did you notice just now."
He leaned in a little and lowered his voice. "You see the guy checking out in the next lane, right behind you?"
"Yeah. What about him?"
"I just felt bad for him. He's got a really bad cold."
"How do you know that?"
"Look at what he's got there; two bottles of orange juice, a dozen cans of chicken noodle soup, two boxes of Kleenex and a paperback novel. He's not planning on leaving the house for a few days."
I looked up into the other customer's eyes and really saw them. He had a far-off, glassy eyed stare that a person only gets when they are ill... or drunk. Then I noticed the complexion of his nose was slightly pinker than the rest of his face, as if irritated by too many tissues. Now that I took all that in, I couldn't understand how I had missed it before.
"Wow, you've got a real gift there."
"No, I just pay attention."
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