Summer chronicles: So pretty much . . .

there's no AC. I know, I'm from California, and my parents avoided turning it on whenever possible so I should be used to it right? Well, no. I'm not used to it. It's hot, and I'm moist, and there's nothing I can do about it. And I don't want to go to FHE, I'm the worst!

I've been meaning to write about this for a while, but never did.

Last week I took over a shift at work. I didn't mind because I was actually low on hours. Often, the cashier will bring someone over to my desk for help and I willingly oblige, help them out and send them on their way. Well on this particular day the cashier brought a little old man with an American flag baseball cap, a cane, and a sweaty stack of pink papers. One of the first things I noticed were the clumsy stains on the front of his turquoise and threadbare little polo, and that his worn belt was the only thing holding up his wide black pants. It must have been a tuesday because he asked about how to get a copy of that morning's devotional . . . an audio copy. . . because he was blind. I confess I hadn't noticed, but after being directed to it I recognized the glassy glaze in his eyes, and then my own began to wander.

As he chatted away, I glanced at my watch, and other customers and tried to decide if he was holding his stack at a funny angle, or whether his left thumb was actually gone. It was. I tried to help him as politely as I could. But to no avail. Oh I was polite, but frankly did very little to actually give him any assistance. I asked in what direction I could point him, and he said he lived by the MTC.

At this point I got worried. How was this little blind old man going to find his way that far. I figured that, even though I was supposed to be on duty, I would abandon my post for a higher calling. I took his shoulder and he weasled his arm around my waist (whew) and we walked. Slowly, and cautiously we trudged on, and with just a few glances from the (much more rapid) passersby. I decided to seize this moment. This man had lived! He'd had far more experience than I may ever have, and he'd endured through difficult times that had made history; all those events that I had read about and learned and memorized, he'd lived through. That bit of time wasn't a question on a test for him, it was a tittle in the memory books. Wild!

So I asked him questions. The war is always something that seems to be a topic that gets lips moving and eyes widening, and boy did I get some squabbling lips (none too quickly, and without the ability to do so and walk simultaneously . . . unfortunately.) So he told me about how he'd been in charge of the gasoline in North Africa and that without him, a whole lotta somethin' woulda blown up. Fortunately he single-handedly averted the disaster.

We walked, and he chatted, and I gave consistent, and perhaps overly-enthused verbal cues to signal I was still with him, considering I wasn't able to employ any visual encouragement. Eventually he told me he knew where he was and that he could get home quite well from there. Uhhhh, are you sure? I walked away, praying that I wouldn't come to find that "a little old man had been strangled trying to find his way home and if only someone had helped him find his way so sad."

I walked back to my post, and with only a little chastisement for having left that post, I went home.

Back again later for a second dose of free time at the bookstore, I pondered how fortunate I was to be young and with contacts, and how strange it'll be when I shrivel. Anyway, then Anita comes over and calls out some title which I valiantly type into the source of all knowledge, and don't find the book. She brings the customer over to me and oh-so-graciously hands him off. He doesn't say much, but hands me his phone with the title on it. When I try to talk to him, he waves his hands around his ears and shakes his head. He is deaf. We look on the internet and search different sites until finally we uncover what he's looking for. When he sees a picture of the book he wants (a comic book something-or-other) he breaks out into the most gleeful grin I think I've ever seen. He writes me a note, inquiring as to whether it is available, and I shake my head. Without much other adieu he waves and walks away.

What a day that was. Events like these make me feel so blessed. I mean I am blessed, and it is here that I am made more aware of my great circumstances.