Gloom Master Maintenance

It was a perfect morning for my clandestine activities. Saturday is ‘family day.’ It’s one of those days when I get to do what ‘I’ want to do. That sounds nice in principle, but it actually means changing the linens, hauling them off to the cleaners, dropping my daughter off for her early morning ballet class, doing the grocery shopping, catching up on paperwork, and answering a staggering number of emails. The afternoon is different. That’s when we make certain we have time as a family.

But the timing was perfect. As I dropped Mary off I decided to visit the florist and select some flowers for the Gloom Master. There were plenty of choices and I really struggled in imagining what flower would discretely say ‘you’re a miserable old git and it’s got to change now!’

I went for the daffodils. Some were still closed tight and I figured that once they relaxed and opened, they’d turn into a thing of beauty. I wasn’t certain that Gloom Master would be able to interpret the subtle nuances behind the gesture, but it was the best my half-functioning brain could rustle up before 9am on a Saturday morning.

Men are useless at things like choosing flowers. Most of us end up making our selections at the checkout counters of the local 7-11 or at a petrol station. And we’re probably hopeless at conveying messages that possess any sense of depth. Worse yet, when a woman receives flowers from a guy, it can more often than not mean the guy is guilty of something, or the relationship is just too new and he’s still chasing her. Oh, I hope I've never been that way! (Okay...perhaps once, maybe...)

My early morning attire was perfect for the position of a flower delivery person. I had on torn jeans, a flannel shirt, and a jacket that had seen better days - long before the chap who passed away left it to me. And my hair looked like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

I took one of those blank cards that florists always have available and pondered over what I should write. I settled for ‘Alice, thank you for being so nice.’ I’m sure God was raising His eyebrows over that one! But I muttered to myself, ‘ just give me a second, you’ll see what I’m up to.’ The extremely patient florist kindly placed a ribbon around the flowers and wrapped them in paper. They were three bunches for £1.50. Fantastic value I thought. I bought nine bunches.

Daffodils have always been one of my favourites. As a small child I remember my grandmother helping me plant several in her garden. Whenever I came to visit her she would point out that the flowers in her garden were a result of my hands. It’s one of those childhood snapshots that remain in your heart throughout your life.

I pulled up to the entrance of the supermarket and did exactly what I hate seeing anyone else do. I stopped the car, turned on the emergency blinkers, and ran in to the service counter. I told the surprised clerk that they were for one of the till clerks named Alice. (I probably could have said 'Gloom Master' and they would have known who I was speaking about). The clerk was busy but she said she’d give them to her. I ran back out to the car and headed for the laundry.

After dropping off our linens I returned to the supermarket to do my shopping. As I entered the store I could see the back of Gloom Master at her till. Her flowers had been placed in a vase and were beside her register. There was already a steady queue of people paying for their weekend shopping.

When I queued up with the other poor souls who were waiting their turn for a dose of Miss Congeniality, I immediately noticed something. The woman was actually smiling! I won’t go so far as to say I heard her entering into any meaningful conversation with the two people ahead of me, but it was very clear that the woman wasn’t being the inveterate grump that she always was.

As she began to scan my items I said my usual ‘Good morning.’ She looked at me and smiled, but she didn’t’ respond. And then I said ‘those are lovely flowers you have there.’ The woman glanced at them, as she continued scanning my groceries. She said ‘ yes, they are lovely. I haven’t received flowers since my husband died. He always brought me flowers. We were married forty-four years’

The total appeared on the display and the woman, as true to form, didn’t tell me what the total was. But as I handed her the money, I noticed that she didn’t have the rock hardened face that she usually held.

This time I saw a sad, lonely, elderly lady who was adrift over the loss of someone she loved. I saw a lost and lonely woman who probably had nothing left to return to at home.

Perhaps the flowers did more for me than they did for her. Perhaps they served to remind me that anyone’s demeanour has an origin. Perhaps her behaviour was the only mechanism she could find as protection.

Next week, when I queue up at her till, perhaps I’ll see less of Gloom Master and more of Alice, the lonely woman who no longer has anyone to bring her flowers.

And that is what I should have seen in the first place.

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The Gloom Master

In one of the supermarkets I use there’s a till clerk whom I’ve awarded the honorary title of ‘Gloom Master.’ Over the past year, I cannot recollect one single positive response from the woman when I’ve greeted her as I paid for my groceries. If I ask ‘how are you today?’ The response most often is ‘awful.’ If I mention that it looks lovely outside today, her response is ‘well, I’ll never see it, will I?’

I’m ashamed to say that there have been times when I’ve perused the tills to see who was working them, so as to choose anyone but the Gloom Master to ring up my purchases. But yesterday I found myself again standing in queue as she dealt with customers ahead of me.

Just before me was a petite lady who I would guess was in her seventies. As Gloom Master scanned the woman’s items there was no dialogue between them. And when Gloom Master finished scanning the items, she simply stopped and waited for the woman to put her items in shopping bags. Still, no words were exchanged.

The senior shopper looked at Gloom Master and asked ‘well?’ Gloom Master responded with ‘Well what?’ With what appeared to be a hint of a twinkle in her eyes, the little lady told Gloom Master, ‘Well, dear, you’re supposed to tell me how much I owe for the groceries.’

You would have thought Gloom Master had taken an advanced training course in customer service from the staff of Ryanair. ‘The price is right there,’ replied the Till Nazi. Gloom Master barely lifted her arm to point to the till total displayed on the monitor.

It could have been a scene from When Harry Met Sally. The tiny lady slowly looked at the total displayed on the monitor, then looked back at Gloom Master. ‘Yes, dear,' she said. 'I see the screen, but you’re supposed to tell me what the total is.’ I couldn’t help but grin as I watched this battle of the minds. ‘No I don’t,’ retorted Gloom Master, ‘that’s what the display is for.’

I had anticipated that the lady was going to just give up and pay the total and possibly mutter to herself about the poor service. But how wrong I was! ‘ Dear,’ I loved how she used the word dear like a shovel to clean up a mess on the floor. ‘ We are humans and humans are supposed to talk to one another.’ At that, the small woman, who was growing very tall in my eyes, handed a twenty-pound note to Gloom Master.

Gloom Master didn’t look up. She gathered up the coins in change and dropped them on the counter, without offering any eye contact at all. I thought it was a wonderful exchange between the two women who age-wise were probably not that far apart, but in perspectives on life, they were miles apart. ‘Now say ‘Thank you,’ dear,’ the woman stood her ground in front of Gloom Master, all the while smiling such a sweet and loving smile.

Gloom Master ignored her and started to grab at my groceries. She had gotten one item past the scanner, but I quickly reached over, grabbing my groceries, preventing them from moving further down the belt.

‘You haven’t said thank you yet to the lady,’ I politely reminded her. Gloom Master instantly turned on what I can only describe as a ‘Bette Davis, Baby Jane Hudson’ theatrical smile and looked at me and said, ‘Thank you.’ And she turned to the woman, whilst maintaining the same rather possessed looking smile and said ‘thank you’ to the woman.

She didn’t miss a step. The little lady smiled back at Gloom Master and said, ‘You’re welcome. Have a lovely day.’ And at that she collected her small push trolley and proceeded out the store.

I could have said more to Gloom Master, but now wasn’t the time. I only had a few items and I wanted to catch up with the lady who had so valiantly stood her ground before old sourpuss. I found her heading towards the bus stop.

I introduced myself and told her I was pleased that she had stood up to Gloom Master, mentioning what I had named the woman. The lady told me that she had been a schoolteacher for 52 years and manners hold no age limit. I asked her if Gloom Master had been rude to her before. She tickled me greatly when she told me that she actually looks for Gloom Master whenever she comes to the store, because she’s determined to make the woman be nicer to customers.

I asked if she had ever complained to the store about her. The woman said ‘no,’ and explained that if she did all would happen is that the woman would either lose her job or have more reason to be miserable.

Who says I’m too old to learn from a teacher? I’ve decided that next week, before I go to the store, I’m going to buy a small bunch of flowers for old Gloom Master. And I’m going to present them to the store’s service desk with an anonymous card. I’ll write, ‘thank you for making someone smile last week.’

Let’s see what happens.

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