Do You Know Who I Am?

Over the last couple of days, two of my co-workers have talked to me about their family members who have Alzheimer's disease, and as they spoke, memories of my dad flooded my mind. Before he was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, Daddy often said the following words ... "I don't care what happens to my body, but I pray every day that I don't ever lose my mind." That's one of those big life things I will never understand, you know ... why the very thing that Daddy feared the most is exactly what ended up happening to him. I don't understand why a man as loving as my dad was ... why a man as good as my dad was ... why a man as kind as my dad was ... why a man as faithful as my dad was ... I don't understand why God didn't answer Daddy's prayer to let him keep his sanity. I remember wondering if Daddy knew what was happening to him, if he knew he was losing his ability to think or reason or understand. I wondered that a lot ... I wondered a whole lot if Daddy knew that he was losing himself and thinking that if he did, how terrified he must have been and how alone he must have felt. I will never forget the first time Daddy no longer had a twinkle in his eyes when he saw me ... the first time he didn't recognize me. But even more, I will never ever forget the first time Daddy looked at me with a deep, dark emptiness in his eyes and asked, "Do you know who I am? Who am I?" It was really, really hard when my sweet dad no longer knew the people he loved so dearly, but it was gut-wrenching when he no longer knew himself.

Since I was basically out of food in my house today, I had no choice but to force myself to go to the grocery store. I'm pretty sure it's not a good indicator as to the level of my disdain for shopping when I even dread having to shop for groceries .. I just really, really, really don't like to shop. But as much as I hate to shop, I do like to eat, so I donned three shirts, long underwear, jeans, wool socks, coat, scarf, gloves and hiking boots and headed to the store. I didn't even think about it being the weekend before Thanksgiving ... until I pulled into the parking lot and saw the million or so cars parked there. "Uggghhh," I said aloud as I searched for an empty spot in the lot. "Uggghhh, uggghhh, uggghhh." The inside of the grocery store wasn't much better than the parking lot, with the aisles filled with people as they searched for the perfect foods for the upcoming holiday. I had decided upon entering the packed store that I would only buy what I absolutely needed to survive for the next few days along with the ingredients for the homemade Southern-style banana pudding I'm taking to work on Tuesday for our annual Stretch Your Stomach Thanksgiving event. Yep, that was my plan ... grab only the bare essentials and get the heck out of the store as fast as I possibly could. What was not part of my plan, however, was the shopping cart traffic jam I encountered in every single aisle ... sheesh.

After an hour and 20 minutes of maneuvering through the throngs of green bean casserole, sweet potato, turkey and gravy shoppers, I finally had the items I needed and headed for the checkout only to groan when I saw the long lines of people waiting to pay. I think there's a universal character flaw among those of us who hate to shop ... we can't admit that it's probably going to take the same amount of time to check out no matter which line we choose to stand in. No, no, no ... we have to walk back and forth trying to find the shortest line only to return to the one we should have gotten in to start with. So after perusing the checkout lines at least three or four times, I got in line and counted to see how many people were actually ahead of me ... 11 ... yep, there were 11 people ahead of me in line ... uggghhh. Though I told myself at least a dozen times that I wasn't going to check my watch again to see how my time was passing as I waited, I kept checking and checking and checking ... 28 minutes later, there was finally only one person in front of me.

I waited for the groceries of the customer before me to slide forward on the conveyor belt, reached for the plastic separator thingie that alerts the cashier that he or she has reached the end of that customer's groceries and that those that follow belong to the next person. I had about half of the items from my cart placed on the squeaking black belt when I noticed that the cashier had stopped scanning the items of the woman ahead of me. "Oh, great," I thought. "This is just great." And that's when it happened ... just as I was losing my cool and wishing I had never come to the store, I overheard the exchange between the cashier and the customer.

"I'm so sorry, maam ... my manager will be here as quickly as possible to correct the problem," said the young man working at the register. 

"That's not acceptable," said the woman in a stern voice accompanied by an even sterner scowl on her face. "I am already running behind schedule, and that is not acceptable. I will pay for what you have scanned, and I will never return here to shop again."

The young cashier spoke in a soft voice as he tried to explain to the irate woman who looked to be around my age that he couldn't finish the transaction until the manager came and entered a code that would allow him to do so. I was impressed with his calm manner and respectful tone as he spoke ... he was polite and professional despite the woman's obvious and vocal disapproval.

"Perhaps you did not hear me, young man," said the woman loud enough for half the store to hear her. "Perhaps you do not know to whom you are speaking. Do you know who I am? Why of course you don't ... how would someone in such a lowly position possibly know who I am?"

The young man glanced sheepishly at those of us waiting in line, obviously embarrassed by the woman's harsh words and condescending attitude. I heard the man in line behind me say, "That manager better show up fast, or this could get really ugly." 

Now normally in that type of situation, I would do one of two things ... look down at the floor and pray that the stinking manager would hurry up already, or I would try to catch the cashier's eye and give him my most convincing "Dude, you didn't do anything wrong," look, and then give my most heartfelt "Lay off the kid, lady," stare to the rude and unkind woman. Those of you who know me know that I generally run as fast as I can to avoid any type of confrontation. But today for some reason, I guess I'd reached my limit ... I walked to the front of my cart as the woman waved her finger at the now noticeably nervous young cashier and shouted once again, "I asked you a question ... do you know who I am? I can buy and sell you, boy ... how dare you treat me this way? Do you know who I am?"

"I know who you are right now ... right now, you're a jerk. He didn't do anything wrong; it's a glitch with the computer, and you need to calm down," I said as I stared directly into the woman's seething eyes. "He's just a kid trying to do his job, and you're acting like a jerk. Leave him alone, and wait for the manager to get here to fix the problem or leave. Either way, you owe this kid an apology." And I must admit ... even though I was terrified that the woman was going to punch me in the face ... it felt good ... it felt really good to stand up for the young man. No, wait, that's not right ... it didn't feel good ... it felt right. It felt totally and completely right to tell that rude, hateful woman to stop being mean to the young man ... it felt so very, very, very right to speak up and call her out on her actions. And for the record, I have no idea who she is ... obviously, she thinks she's someone pretty influential or important. I have no idea who she is, but more important ... I couldn't care less how much money she has or if she drives an expensive car or lives in a mansion or is a socialite or a powerful businesswoman or anything else. It doesn't matter one bit if she is any or all of those things ... today at the grocery store, she was nothing more than a bully beating up on a young kid with her scathing words.

The manager finally arrived a few minutes after the woman had stormed out leaving her groceries behind, and he typed in the required code to rectify the computer problem within a matter of seconds. I was contemplating whether I should mention to him what had transpired when the gentleman in line behind me said, "That's one fine employee you have there, sir ... very respectful and he's doing a great job." I seconded what the man had said, and the young cashier smiled from ear to ear as his manager patted him on the back and said, "That's what I like to hear, Brandon ... keep up the good work!"

Needless to say, I've thought a whole lot about the encounter this morning, and there's a lesson that has marched its way into my heart as the day has worn on. So many times in my life I, just like my dad when he was sick, have forgotten who I am. But there have also been times in my life when I, just like the condescending woman in the store today, have thought I was so much more important that I truly am. I've been like the young cashier, too ... just trying to do the best I can while being attacked by someone who believes they have the right and the justification to do so.

Think about it, friends ... do you know who I am? Do you know who you are? You know what I think? I think God knows who all of us are ... yep, I do indeed. Think about that for a while ... think about that for a good long while ... I know I surely am.