I recently left the endless square miles of convenience in suburban Chicago for a small Kansas community with a total area of 11.73 square miles. I grew up in an even smaller town, and returning to this pace, this environment, has been good for my soul. It feels like home.
There are a hundred reasons why I love small towns, and at the top of that list are the grocery stores. Let’s first begin with my experience today at Walmart, a very UN-small-town location.
Nothing particularly unpleasant happened, but it was busy, with too many grumpy ladies attempting to push their way through the cereal aisle. And on my way to the cheese section, I was cut off by an associate on his way to the stock room, and immediately after that, an associate pulling a stocking cart walked in front of me, let go of her cart, and continued walking, leaving the big cart of boxes right in my path. Overall, an unfriendly experience.
Now let’s talk about Dillons, our local Kroger grocer. More than once during a trip to Dillons, I have seen both employees and customers go above and beyond, in terms of helpfulness, friendliness, and courteousness. One time, I had finished shopping, paid for the groceries, and was pushing my cart o’ kids, while a lovely employee pushed a second cart, full of my groceries, out to my car. Upon opening my passenger-side door, she noticed a stamped envelope on the seat, ready to be mailed. She asked, “Would you like me to take this inside and mail it for you?” So unnecessary and unexpected. And so very kind. She tucked the envelope neatly into her apron, patting it to demonstrate that she would take extra good care of it, then unloaded all of my groceries into the car while I buckled in the kids. She put our two carts together, then wheeled them back inside with a smile.
Just a few weeks ago, I was shopping at Dillons again with both kids. Charlie was climbing into the car while I wheeled the cart around to the other side and began unloading groceries into the front passenger seat. I had scored the very front parking space, so my only options for returning the cart were to take it all the way back inside the store, or walk a ways down the parking lot to the first cart corral. Even in a small town, where people leave their cars running while they run into the gas station for cigarettes, I don’t like wandering too far from the car when the kids are inside it. I looked up to see a customer headed toward the store, and asked spontaneously, “Excuse me, do you need a cart?” She responded, “No, but I’ll take that in for you.” She could tell I was relieved, and as I hurriedly finished emptying the cart of groceries and lifting Lillian from its seat, she said, “Sure, it’s just one less thing for you to worry about.”
When I grow up, I want to be just like her.
