Encounter with a grocery-store angel

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For reasons known only to God's grocery-store angels (they hang out by the food-sample stations and grab bites when nobody's looking), any checkout line I choose is bound to be the longest wait.I can zip into a "one item or less" line, and the person ahead of me will (a) write a check; (b) balance her checkbook; (c) find an old coupon in her purse; and (d) beg the clerk to honor it.OK, maybe I do that myself on occasion, but not as often as the folks in line ahead of me.My grandmother had a plaque that read: "The hurry-er I go, the behind-er I get."I wasn't sure what that meant, but I learned. It's just the way the world works, usually. But it did not work that way today.I was in a rush, as always, and every line in the store was three carts deep. So I closed my eyes and resigned myself to wait.Maybe I nodded off. From somewhere, I heard a voice."I can help you here, ma'am."I looked over at the next check stand, where a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair was smiling, beckoning me to come over."Me?" I said."Yes," she laughed, "you!"I felt like I'd won the lottery."How are you?" she asked, as she began to tally my groceries."I'm fine, thank you," I said, reciting the civil litany I learned as a child, "and how are you?""Well," she said, "I have a little headache this morning, but I'm fine, too, thank you."I looked in her eyes. She looked in mine. And polite banter switched to plain talk."Did you eat today?" I asked."Yes," she said, "but I woke up with this headache and it just won't go away."For the record, I do not make it a habit to diagnose symptoms of strangers in grocery stores. But somehow, I couldn't resist."How's the blood pressure?""It's high," she nodded. "I just started medication.""Maybe you need to get your doctor to adjust the dosage?""Maybe so," she said. "I'll call him when I get off work." Then she crinkled her nose. "He says I need to lose weight."I sized her up. Soaking wet, she would weigh less than I do."You look great," I said.She leaned across the counter to whisper, "I weigh (never mind how many) pounds!"I was right. It was less."Well, you wear it well."For the next few minutes, while she kept checking my groceries, she told me her story.Everybody has one. All you have to do is listen -- both to what they say and don't say.She'd been ready to retire, to take life easier, she said. But one day she got a phone call that proved to be a calling, and just like that, she decided to adopt an 11-year-old girl."Her mother didn't want her. She was going to put her in a foster home. I thought about it," she said, lifting her shoulders, "and I just couldn't say no."I nodded, thinking of other fine women I have known who could not say no to a child.Her face lit up again, and she laughed. "She's such a joy!"A joy, yes, and a mouth to feed and a pair of growing feet to shoe. So now she works part-time while the girl is at school."My doctor wants me to exercise," she said, "so I might start walking with her to school. Wouldn't that be nice?""It would be lovely," I said, paying my bill. "But take care of your blood pressure, OK?""Thanks," she said, "I will. You have a nice day now!"I glanced back at the woman in line behind me. She smiled, as if she could read my mind.I was wrong about grocery-store angels. They don't always hang out by the sample stations. Some of them are clerks.(Sharon Randall can be contacted at P.O. Box 777394, Henderson NV 89077, or at www.sharonrandall.com.)