Last night I found myself bereft of several food items, basics like bread, spaghetti sauce, milk, hot dog relish and grape soda, so I took a jaunt over to the local grocery store to re-stock. The place was almost literally deserted; I thought of Dick Van Dyke, on his show’s famous flying saucer episode (“Unny Uffs!”) working late in an empty office and saying to himself in his best Boris Karloff impression that he felt like “the only living thell in a dead body.”
But one human being was in evidence…a short, slight little middle aged man with slicked down hair who is apparently on the job all day and night, all week long. I see him every time I visit that branch. He is always bustling about, restocking shelves, giving directions to customers, and generally hurrying up and down aisles like the White Rabbit in Disney’s animated “Alice in Wonderland.”
I had thought before, in past visits, that he was as hard working and professional an individual as I had ever encountered anywhere in any occupation, always cheerful, always cheerily greeting me and anyone else he came across. My only discourse with him before last night was to answer his “How are you today. sir?” greetings and to answer, “No, I’m okay, thanks!” when he asked. “Can I help you find anything?’
Last night, however, when we passed in an aisle and briefly ended up face to face, I noticed that he had a blackened, swollen eye and a large bandage over his cheek beneath it. So I inquired, “What happened to your face?” His expression immediately brightened, his demeanor relaxed, and he began telling me that he had that week an operation on a basil carcinoma. Animatedly, the man, whose name I did not know and still don’t know, told me about his history with skin cancers, the experiences of his three sisters, the size of the small growth removed, and more: where he grew up, how much time he has spent in the sun as a child, and his favorite sports and activities growing up. I stood there for 20 minutes listening to him. It seemed that he was so grateful to receive a caring response from one of the hundreds of Harris Teeter’s shoppers he must encounter every day, most of whom treat him as if he were a mannequin at Target, as I always had.
Ethics Alarms 