When she reached the register, she immediately pointed out, rather brusquely, that the DVDs weren't in the boxes. The cashier called over another staff member who knew how the process worked: that they kept the discs behind the counter. She told them, with unnecessary force, that she wanted to check them herself before she bought them. As they looked for the correct discs that matched the case she was buying, she complained at the inconvenience of the wait (which totaled about 20 seconds at that point). The two staff members retained their polite and calm demeanor despite her increasing irritation.
I was trapped in the awkward position of being right behind her in line. I couldn't escape, I only had one book to buy, and at the rate things were going, it seemed likely that she would make the whole process go even slower with her needless badgering. I forced myself to be patient; she was being impatient enough for the both of us.
As the two staff members continued to organize and get the DVDs, the woman muttered, "I'm tired of this place, these people, this town." I assumed she was talking to herself, but she glanced at me as if she expected me to agree or otherwise respond. I had no response - I actually quite like the area where I live and had no similar complaint about the store or its employees. In fact, I thought they were doing a good job of dealing with a difficult customer. But her comment wasn't the kind of thing you can nod and smile at, so I just met her eyes awkwardly with a benign expression. I didn't want her to turn her volatile annoyance onto me.
The cashier gave her the packet of DVDs. She sorted through them. "These are horrible," she said. "They have smudges on them. They won't come off. This is why I want to look at them before I buy them. What about the other ones?"
They went to work getting the other season of DVDs. As she waited, she turned to me again. "Look at what I got," she said, showing me the March of the Penguins book. "Have you seen this movie?"
"It's a great movie," she said with feeling. "It was very well done, and it showed a lot about how the penguins take care of their young." As she spoke, she flipped through the book, pointing out a picture of some baby penguins. "They take better care of their young than humans do."
The way she said it made me wonder if there was a story behind that statement in her own life. But I just mumbled something about how cute the baby penguins were, hoping she wouldn't start criticizing someone specific about their parenting skills. She turned to another picture. "See how they take care of them? One parent keeps them under their belly while the other goes to get food. They travel for MILES to find food, just for their young. They do a much better job than humans do."
She had mentioned it again. I didn't know what to say. I have no objections to the way my parents raised me, no major complaints. I think they did a pretty darn good job, and I've been fortunate in that respect. I couldn't sincerely agree with her, but I didn't want to antagonize her or shut her out. I made some comment about how it was cool that the penguins did that.
The cashier rescued me by giving the woman the other DVDs. She wasn't happy with them and wanted to see any others they had of the same seasons. They told her that she would have to get the case from the shelf since they were individually matched up with the case. She got worked up about that, telling them that she shouldn't have to go back and forth, that SHE was the customer. She demanded that the other staff member go get them for her. He agreed without missing a beat and told her where to wait. She moved out of the line.
After I bought my book, I could still hear her as she waited: "I've had a long day so I'm really tired. I don't have time to deal with this. I'm tired! This is not something I need because of the day I've had..." she kept going on in a strange mixture of half-apology and shameless demands as I left.
Why am I telling you this?
Just practicing my storytelling skills. I made it up. Just kidding.
That woman stuck in my mind. She had a story to tell. What if no one would listen?
She obviously had things to say about where she lived, what she was doing, how her life had been. Those things leaked out in both her words and actions.
I wasn't about to ask for her life story. I didn't even want her to talk to me. But even as she was throwing comments at me about penguin parents being better than human parents and how she was tired of everything, I thought that maybe saying that to someone, even a complete stranger, helped her.
I mean, I don't know. Maybe she didn't even notice she was being listened to. But maybe she appreciated someone merely receiving what she had to say, to some small extent. I didn't mind her talking to me, even though I didn't want her to, because I could tell that it was a needed release for her. Those words had been pushing and shoving to get out, and even though they were packed with bitterness and cynicism, I think it was good that she said them. In a way, I felt like I was absorbing that gunk and dirt and disposing of it for her, because I was able to and she couldn't on her own.
I'm not saying that my mere presence freed her from everything that had ever plagued her in her life, but it's easy to forget how powerful a small act of listening can be: letting words wash over you without judging them or fighting to reply. Listening can seem like such a passive thing, but it can do a lot, even for strangers or someone you don't like.
I'm hoping that subtly-or-not-so-subtly commenting on the mistakes parents make and how frustrated she felt about her circumstances helped that woman feel better, if only a little bit. I have no idea what was going on in her life, but I have a feeling that she has no one who will listen to her without pretense or distraction.
Be sensitive to moments when someone is unloading. It could be a serious, honest moment between friends or an impulsive mini-rant to an acquaintance or stranger. If someone is speaking, listen. Odds are they're telling you something.