Customer #2

It was about 1:30 and I had spent the last 3 hours helping little old ladies out to their cars or hand counting empty cans of beer because our bottle room machines had all crashed on the same day. The rain was drizzling, I was wet, cold, hungry, and exhausted.

At that moment, I made a vow to myself that I would go out of my way to be extra friendly to the next two customers that I helped to their cars.

Customer #1 was the bazillionth little old lady of the day, but I smiled extra hard and made conversation all the way out to the parking lot. God had a great way of encouraging me, because this little old lady was driving the 2009 Ford Mustang GT Convertible, bright red, of course. She told me all about how great of a car it was, which I already knew, but I listened anyway. I laughed on my way back to the building.

Customer #2 was one of those old men we usually avoid at the grocery store, or anywhere else we meet them for that matter. He was in a wheelchair, obviously physically breaking down, and definitely not that concerned about personal hygiene. I grabbed his two gallons of milk and followed him out to his truck. A Marines sticker was slapped on his bumper, so I decided to make some light conversation, just to say to myself that I'd been extra friendly.

"You were a Marine?"

"Yes I was."

"Did you fight in any wars?"

"Vietnam."

"Was it hell like they say?"

"Yes it was. But it wasn't like World War II, where the soldiers came back as heroes. When I came home, people didn't care about us."

"So you gave your life for your country and they didn't care?"

"Yes."

Then this guy proceeded to tell me about the hell of war. I won't go into the details of what I learned about Veitnam for those five minutes, but it was not pretty. He told me of things that happened that he has never forgotten. And then he paused:

"And when I came home, no one even respected us."

"Well sir, I respect you."

He started to tear up, so I turned to go.

"Thank you, son."

"No problem sir, have a great day."

"You too. You too."

As I think about it now, I almost cry like he almost did. Think about it: He put his life on the line for a country that hated him for what he was doing. He watched his buddies die for that same country and those same people. Then he came home and no one gave him a heroes welcome. Now he goes to the store, gets his gas pumped at the same gas station, and goes to church, maybe. And now he's old and falling apart, and people are still avoiding him.

I'm happy that I got to be the one person that gave him a sliver of the respect he deserves.