To the Woman at Target

To the woman at Target:

Perhaps you didn’t notice that I waited for several minutes before asking you to move. Perhaps you didn’t notice that I said please and asked nicely when you blocked the aisle. Perhaps your phone call was really important (though you seemed to be casually having a friendly call). Perhaps it was inconvenient for you to have to move your cart a few feet over. Perhaps you didn’t notice the cane that I was using as I pushed the cart. Perhaps you didn’t see how slowly and painfully I was hobbling along. Perhaps you didn’t realize that going those few extra feet around you as you chatted and blocked the aisle was more than I could physically handle at the moment. Perhaps you didn’t realize how obnoxious your rolled eyes and heavy sighs and dramatic shoulder moves were.

I know you didn’t notice the kind Target employee who a little further on asked why I wasn’t using an electric cart, and when I said I hadn’t been able to find any, asked me to stay there and he’d get me one. Which he did. Because he looked beyond himself enough to notice someone else’s pain.

You’re not alone. Since the accident I was in a few weeks ago, I’ve had many very kind people–both friends and strangers–offer to help me at various times, but I’ve also come across some incredibly rude people. The kind of rude people who see someone hobbling with the aid of a cane and quickly scurry past them, to get in line ahead of the slow one, afraid of being held up for even a moment, not even noticing that they almost knock the person over in their hurry. So you’re not alone in your selfish attitude.

I only hope that you’ll never be on the receiving end of such rudeness, that you’ll never be suffering in pain from some accident, foot swelling and aching more than usual at the end of the day, as you struggle to do a fraction of what you used to do easily, while someone else glares at you for inconveniencing them. But I’m afraid that you’ll not realize when it happens to you that it was something you brought upon yourself as you reap what you sowed, get back what you dished out, or however you’d like to phrase it.

Cheryl

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