24 vs 23
When corporate greed meets human kindness in aisle 7
Ordinary Days, Noticed Series
You’d be amazed how much rage a jar of pasta sauce can spark.
I was stocking the pasta aisle, lining up spaghetti like it was a museum display, when I noticed her: a woman storming toward me, gripping two jars of sauce like they’d personally wronged her.
“You work here?” she snapped.
I glanced at my uniform, complete with a name tag that screamed YES, I WORK HERE, but I kept it professional. “Yes,” I replied.
She held up the jars, one in each hand. “This one is 24 ounces. This one is 23 ounces. Why are they the same price?”
I paused, staring at her for a moment. “I… don’t know?”
“Well, I need you to fix it,” she demanded, shaking the jars like I had the power to rewrite corporate policy on the spot.
“I can’t change that,” I said as gently as possible. “That’s not something I control. You’d need to talk to customer service.”
That, apparently, was the wrong answer.
She launched into a rant about how the store was robbing her, how I was part of the conspiracy, and how everything is shrinking—chips, cereal, even paper towels.
To be fair, she wasn’t entirely wrong. I’d just had a conversation with the chip guy about how bags went from 14 ounces to 11 ounces with no price drop. But I wasn’t about to explain economics to someone mid-rant.
“Can you help me or not?” she yelled.
“Ma’am,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “I can help you pick another jar of sauce, but that’s all I can do.”
She stormed off, muttering about corporate greed, while I stood there wondering if pasta sauce was really worth this much emotional energy.
Then another customer approached.
He tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Thank you for keeping these shelves stocked. I’m sorry people treat you like that.”
It was such a small thing, but it hit me hard.
Most people don’t think about the person behind the uniform. They see the stocked shelves, the jars lined up, and assume it all just happens.
But it doesn’t.
It takes long shifts, patience with people’s frustrations, and a whole lot of effort to keep things running. And sometimes, all it takes to make those days bearable is one person who notices.
That night, I didn’t remember the jars I stocked or the chaos in the aisle.
I just remembered that one person who stopped to remind me that my work and my presence mattered.
𓂀Being IS the MAGIC – Wandering Waykeeper –
If something in this stayed with you, you’re welcome to leave it here.
I find having the experience of serving others, my own was working in retail, can do one of two things… it can wear you out and shut you down completely, simply from the rudeness of others who demand to be waited on and use that as a weapon, or it can be the thing that breaks you open- like the time a young woman needed assistance looking for a book, quietly revealing her attempted suicide years before. You become the recipient of so much uninvited energy while also appearing to be quite invisible, and you have to choose how much to allow in and how it lands inside.
Those soft moments of acknowledgement from another human are what keeps us all going, so why save them just for people we know, who might expect us to be kind, and ripple them out into the ether to reach those who don’t expect that at all. Such a beautiful gesture. Such a beautiful reminder to really step into the life all around. Thank you. ❤️
I hate to be a sucker, but do you really work in a grocery store?