Pass it on

It is Tuesday. Pissy mood. The long weekend, gone to memory. Sun splashed, toddler laughing, strawberry eating, sticky fingers, sandy toes forming the glittery images that so quickly turn to a murky past. Present day. Tuesday. The BART. Tried on three different outfits, pants too snug, eyes tired, face hanging. Walking to the office. Tuesday. My throat hurts, my shoes need a polish, I would kill for a couple hours more sleep. Tuesday.



To the coffee shop, line too long, too slow, I am going to be late. Impatiently tapping my toes, checking my watch. Five more minutes and I am going to be tardy for Tuesday. Damn it. I lost my security badge, and forgot the rent check. What the hell is taking this woman so long to order her skinny-no foam-half -calf-sugar-free-vanilla latte? Just move along. Go. Go. GO! Bloody Tuesday.



The barista smiles, so perky. She takes my money. No my name is Rachel. No Rachel, not Michelle. Rachel, R-A-C-H-E-L. Got it, she winks, inking my cup. I turn to take a spot in the waiting line. A tentative "Wait!" comes through glossy lips. "May I ask?" Timid. " Where do you get your hair done? I want mine. Just. Like. That". The gloomy drugery of the day smashed by human kindness. I smile, flattered. I choose to believe she was genuine, and yes I leave her a tip.



Give a compliment. It could change someone's Tuesday.



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