"What happened to your curls?"
That's what I asked my regular cashier this morning as I went through his checkout. He had a head of long greying ringlets that were beautiful. I'm guessing he is about 60 years old and his hair made him look kind of wild but I liked it. His closely shaven head was a bit of a shock so early in the day.
It's been my habit since starting work to stop at the grocery store every Monday and pick up some flowers for my desk. It's a wonder what a difference a $3 long stemmed rose can make in a person's day. This morning I bought two and wouldn't you know it, I wasn't careful when I was opening up the office and I promptly broke them both off about half an inch from the flower. So now I have a rose floating in my coffee mug and one in the top of the vase. C'est la vie.
Anyway, this cashier has had the kindest, cheery face for being at the tail end of his night shift when I see him on Monday mornings. He stands out for doing his job with class even though he's minutes from quitting time.
This morning he looked back at me and said, "I donated it for someone with cancer." I couldn't tell for a moment whether he was teasing me or serious. Then he added that a friend of his, her husband had cancer, and had had the exact same kind of hair as his. Now the man will have a wig while the cashier will grow back his locks. A win-win situation.
He always wraps my flowers with flair and hands them to me gently, wishing me the best of days. As he did so this morning he talked about how he tries to live life quietly and without fanfare and it puzzled him that so many people commented on his haircut.
He handed me my receipt and my flowers and we parted company.
My roses were blooming beautifully on my desk by afternoon.
I bet this cashier's heart will do so forever.