one day in October...

The day began smoothly. My kiosk kit was complete and my place beside the in-store Starbuck's was now mine for occupancy. The day before, the manager had mistakenly reserved
it for a flu shot workshop and placed me ith the shoping carts. I had not done poorly in the cart roundup room, but it was a far cry from lattes and faux leather seating, so I was quite pleased with this high end location.

Shortly after setting up, latte in hand and newspapers spread artfully around the area,
another entity set up housekeeping. A less fortunate young man, garbed in
Rainbow Gathering apparel, settled in on the faux leather seat for a long
winter's nap. Shortly before he sank into a semi-coma, we had a short dialogue.
He smacked of bi-polar at best. Of course, the aroma of sleeping Renaissance
Faire participant quickly proved to be a traffic deterrent. Though I felt
compassion for him, the duty of helping him to find appropriate lodging was not
in my job description, so I sought help from management. In a matter of 45
minutes, he had been removed and had sneaked back into the store, thinly
disguised and headed to another location. He eventually won himself a free police escort.

His original spot seemed to be a bi-polar magnet, as another gentleman of similar
means had zoomed in on it. This guy stayed awake, but he was unable to keep his
clothing on (don't ask), and he also was helped to find the exit. When a 3rd
person eyed the faux leather, I decided that it was time to move back to the
cart roundup. After all, I was over 2 hours into my shift and only managed to
sell one subscription during all of these visitations. This proved to be a
successful move, as in 10 minutes another family became subscribers, and another
woman grabbed a form to fill out and bring back while I was selling. YES, the
air was much fresher by the door.

I was approached by a man in a wheelchair, who bore what could have been the wounds of a Max train wreck survivor, including the hospital wristband. He seemed fascinated with my
belongings. Unsure of the stability of his temperament, I let him ramble on
about never having contracted AIDS until he tired of me clutching my purse and
wheeled into the store. He was escorted out 4 times before the police were
finally involved in the matter. Again, another traffic deterrent, but I was
determined to end the day on the winning side of the coin. So, when the next
interested prospect stopped for conversation, I mustered all of the grace and
discernment in the known universe to my disposal. It was going well. Then came
the kiss of death upon the rest of the day...

We were ready to close when all of a sudden, a man at the check stand began a
raging rant, using his outdoor stadium voice. It literally stopped the entire
store. My once-interested-in-subscribing woman joined herself to my arm in a
Sumo lock and declared loudly, I think he has a GUN!!! After chanting that a
few times and effectively numbing my arm, I managed to drag us to a safe view
of the raver. In his hand was a receipt and a bag. His complaint was that the
store was cold-hearted for arresting a man in a wheelchair. Fortunately, the
police were already there and he was summarily hauled out to join the man he so
fiercely defended. I'm guessing that he finally caught the big picture after
spending a little quality time with Mr. I-Never-Got-AIDS.

Sharon (the clinger felt it necessary to exchange names, as we had shared great trauma
together) moved on, thanking me for my support. I also moved on, thanking the
manager for an interesting afternoon and congratulating myself on recalling my
crisis counsel training. The drive home and evening resumed the smooth flavor
of the morning. I love a day with fruity notes and surprising boldness!

NOTE TO BOSS: This is my written excuse for the crappy sales day.

one Sunday afternoon...

"There's a crazy man standing behind you. Watch your purse!" warned the new
subscriber as we spoke our parting words. "Yup - he's talking to the
aliens on board. I'll be careful!" I replied, wondering what the next few
minutes would bring. The store pharmacist was clearly aware that the man was
challenged, and was wary. Since my last work assignment at this store, an
unmarked security guy had been hired to roam the aisles in search of people who
were up to no good. We had made eye contact earlier and I had given him a
knowing, appreciative look. He was not far from the pharmacy area where I was
stationed.

I turned to observe the crazy man. He was dressed in military camo, fully geared
with field radio peeking out of a pant leg pocket. He was tensely discussing
with his invisible accomplice his near panic over the pharmacy being out of his
meds for PTSD. An occasional odd noise would burst forth from his lips as he
paced and muttered. As suddenly as my radar had gone up a minute earlier,
my heart was rushed with grief over the man's plight. He was strong, handsome,
and looked fiercely confident and capable. I began to pray for him, invoking
God's compassion, intervention, healing and deliverance for this brave soldier
who had paid such a high price to serve and protect total strangers. That man
could have been my first husband, long deceased of a brain aneurysm ( possibly
a result of Agent Orange exposure).

Very shortly after my silent prayer, he was informed by the pharmacist that his drug
had been located at another pharmacy and he could pick it up there. Part of him
was quite grateful, while the other part raged in every weary-yet-taught
muscle. As he strode toward the door, he murmered comments about the difficulty
of not having what he needed readily available to manage his PTSD and
Tourette's. Then... he stopped and turned to me, staring at the floor behind me.
"My late husband was a Nam vet" I said meekly. Almost looking into my
eyes, he swiftly grabbed my hand and said softly, "You know about this,
don't you..." I put my other hand on his vice-like grip, nodding
stoically. His story tumbled out in torrents, of being seriously injured by an
IED, working special forces, and the reality of now dealing with physical pain,
trauma, and the new diagnosis of Tourette's syndrome. He showed no weakness,
only courage and ferocious determination as he spoke. "Has anyone ever
told you that God loves you dearly and has a wonderful plan for your
life?" I queried lovingly. "Yes, ma'am, and I pray every day,"
As he spoke as his countenance brightened and a peace came over him.

"What is your name?" I whispered.

"Donald."

"I will pray for you, Donald." I promised. " He marched away with determined
steps, his lips silent and his demeanor peaceful.

Once back in my world, an awareness set in that the security guy and a few
bystanders were ready to rescue me if the crazy man decided to attempt to snap
my neck or use me as a human shield until they provided the helicopter and
suitace full of small unmarked bills. He could easily have done that, I
suppose, but that was not what he needed...

Thank a vet this week - some of them pay a lot more than we realize.