Waiting in Line
My new BFF is Shirley, a cashier at Walmart. Our friendship started slowly, with polite hellos and small talk, the kind that warms a cold, early morning. She was having a nice day, and I had found everything I needed. I thought it would be a quick, simple in-and-out trip.
Everything moved smoothly down the conveyor belt until Shirley came to my bottle of wine for later that evening. Apparently, Walmart doesn’t sell alcohol before 7:00 a.m. She kindly told me I could wait—just 23 minutes.
I had a large order, so it would take time anyway. Shirley, ever efficient, called for a coworker to help me to my car, shaving off a few minutes. By now, everyone in line knew I was waiting for “the alcohol.” Each new bagger nodded knowingly, murmuring, “Mmmhmmm, she’s waitin’ on the alcohol.” I waved and said hello, feeling oddly at home amid the quiet anticipation.
Fourteen minutes to go. Shirley was still hard at work, everything bagged and organized. She offered me a seat, but I declined. Fridays were “fruit and candy” days for the employees; five different people offered me chocolate, politely, repeatedly. I smiled and declined each time. All of them huddled nearby, waiting, watching, sharing this tiny, suspenseful moment with me.
Eight minutes. The countdown continued. Me, Shirley, three cashiers, two baggers, and even Bob, the man in the electric scooter, were all part of this little community. Six minutes. Then Mary arrived, some kind of manager, curious about the gathering.
But back to Shirley. She’s been married a long time, though she can’t remember exactly how long or even how old she is. She married her high school sweetheart. At first, their marriage was tumultuous, but in his forties, he suffered an aortic aneurysm. Shirley called 911, then put her hand on his chest and prayed. He survived.
And that’s when I started crying in line—hormones and all.
Shirley continued sharing her life story. She spoke of love, devotion, and ordinary days made extraordinary after facing a near-tragedy. I listened, my heart swelling with joy for her, despite my own pain. I had prayed over my husband as he battled cancer. He didn’t survive. I didn’t understand why my story ended differently, but standing there, hearing Shirley speak, I felt nothing but pure happiness for her. There was no jealousy, only admiration and awe for the life she loved so deeply. The strangers around me—Mary, Michelle, Tina, Stephanie, even Bob—were drawn in as well. Some leaned on the counter, some smiled, all silent, captivated by her words.
Time passed unnoticed. Finally, Shirley announced, “Time for the alcohol.” Instantly, it became a chant of celebration among my new friends at checkout #8. We had made it. The small victory felt enormous.
I thanked Shirley, telling her this was the best experience I’d ever had at Walmart. Mary asked me to take a survey. I happily agreed. Then Mary walked me out to my car. She told me stories of her own life—leaving home at 13, hitchhiking across the country multiple times, returning to earn her high school diploma. Her resilience and courage left me awestruck.
We loaded the groceries, shivering in the early-morning chill, sharing stories and laughter. I felt guilty for thinking Walmart trips were meaningless. Instead, I had met two extraordinary women. Shirley, who faced fear with prayer and presence, and Mary, who sacrificed her childhood yet pursued life with courage and independence.
I hugged Mary in the parking lot, tears streaming, feeling humbled. Life is too long and too short, all at once, to focus on the trivial. This morning reminded me to put aside pettiness, to check my judgments, and to treasure the moments and people that truly matter.
I sat in my car, wiping tears until the sunrise, grateful for Shirley, for Mary, and for the unexpected lessons in love, courage, and connection. Sometimes the universe sends reminders in the most ordinary places—a grocery store at dawn.
I hope everyone gets a Shirley or a Mary in their life: someone to remind you what’s important, to reconnect you with love and hope. Watch for them. They arrive when you least expect it. They remind you to live fully, to love deeply, and sometimes, to place your hand on somebody’s heart. Just get to it all. I know I will.
