Prompted by a recent discussion of kindness toward retail staff, wait-staff, and other people who deal with the public on a daily basis, on those occasions when they have disappointing news to impart.
A true story.
A few years ago Judi and I went on a three-night cruise, over her birthday weekend. The final night, we treated as a romantic occasion, and as part of the evening, I presented her with a bouquet of roses.
This was in and of itself a rare event, because Judi’s heavily allergenic and flowers are usually the very last thing she wants; seriously, if she’s in the hospital, a vase of roses will brighten up the room but darken her spirit.
But on this particular evening, the roses were of a type that did not enflame her sinuses, the gesture was welcomed as intended, and it was a splendid night.
So the next morning, with the ship docked in the port at Fort Lauderdale, we were in the line to disembark, our luggage having been sent ahead, Judi carrying her roses in her arms.
A young woman in a ship’s uniform, standing on deck to make sure the disembarkation went smoothly, approached to tell us that we might as well get rid of the roses now, as agricultural protections would prevent us from being able to take them through customs.
She was young, attractive, in her early twenties; instantly likeable, even as she imparted the bad news.
To these old-fart eyes, she was not a woman, but a girl.
It briefly occurred to me to be irate that I’d not been warned, the night before, that the roses I’d purchased would have to be surrendered only a few hours later. That sucked.
But it also occurred to me that this young lady was not responsible for that, let alone for the regulations at United States Customs. Also that the flowers had fulfilled their intended purpose, entirely, the night before. They’d delivered their message, and contributed to the evening. Judi understood this as well as I did, and was in fact already surrendering the roses to me. Why be irate?
As I hesitated, the young woman said, “I can discard them for you, if you’d like.”
I replied with a decisive, “No, that won’t do.”
I took the roses over to her, and then, just before handing them to her, dropped to one knee, one arm extended in undying devotion. “They’re yours.”
Would you believe she was stunned? That she blushed? The laughter behind me, from the line of disembarking passengers, was substantial, and it must be said that the young woman released a little laugh too, even as she was taken aback by the unexpected gesture.
I returned to a grinning Judi, who said, “You are such a silly man.”
The line moved on, and we approached the end of our vacation happier.
More: the last thing I did before we headed down the ramp was look over my shoulder, at the line behind; and far behind me stood the young woman, talking to another passenger. She still had the roses cradled in her arms, and I think it’s fair to say that she was still glowing, a little.
I’d made her day.
Doesn’t that strike you as better than being a cranky asshole?