Say Hello

We have a Raleigh zip code, but in truth, Ruth and I live outside the city limits, south of I-40 and Tryon Road.

Happily, in normal times, we are just seconds from what I suppose many of us often take for granted — fully stocked grocery stores.

Yesterday I encountered massive shortages at the closest Harris Teeter. Ensuing visits to other HT locations as well as to several competitors revealed the same issue.

This morning I ventured back to the closest HT, and many items had been restocked.

I thought about the Sisyphean task that these folks are now looking at daily. They are facing the same issues as you or me, but with a huge difference — they are part of the wheel that turns to keep our quality of life as high as it normally is.

We live in paradise, thanks to the efforts of those who handle our food, those that help us get well when sick, those that respond to emergencies in all forms. These people are critical, and they are often invisible as I suspect many of us “assume” that a policeman, a fireman, a nurse, a doctor, someone who keeps a grocery store stocked … that all of those folks are just doing their jobs. Well, they are, but they are also enduring the same uncertainties, the same dread, the same fear that we are experiencing.

It is widely known stress and fatigue are allies to sickness.  These people are working long hours. They are on the front line of risk, and that risk is made even more so as they continue to continue.

Don’t often suggest how anyone behaves, as it is not my business.

For instance, I see images of people in New Orleans and Florida clearly ignoring the current CDC guidelines. There are a lot of deaf ears out there.

But if you’ve read this far, and happen to know the John Prine song, HELLO IN THERE that deals with speaking with old folks (such as myself) … 

Here’s the final stanza:

So if you're walking down the street sometime

And spot some hollow ancient eyes,

Please don't just pass 'em by and stare

As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello."

Suggest that you apply the same empathy and compassion for those who are working so extraordinarily hard to keep our lives normal as possible.

When you’re in a grocery store, and see someone unpacking boxes to put food on shelves, take a moment. Look them in the eye, and tell them thank you.

My view is that we are all in the empathy and compassion business. A simple acknowledgement can be a burst of light, a sudden, cool breeze on a humid day.