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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