So I wandered into a scene the other day. One of those elegant scenes that makes you feel lucky. One of those ordinary scenes that makes you feel glad. One of those subtle scenes that a playwright might spend months trying to craft, but never quite gets it right. One of those sublime scenes that carries you through your day. And like most great scenes, it started with a great location.
In this case, the location was the “Order Here” line at the Dunkin Donuts in West Newton square. It was nine o’clock in the morning. A crappy day was on the horizon. In the parking lot, it was cars and cops and contractors and cold air. In the store, the usual cast of characters.
At the counter stood the guy. At a register, the gal. And a dance had begun.
“How ya doin?”
“I’m doin good. You?”
“…aaaa, you know.”
“Oh ya…I know.” she said. The corners of her eyes crinkling with a smile. “What can I getcha?”
At which point the guy unloaded a ridiculously long and complicated order. Small black, no sugar. Large black, six sugars. Medium regular, but extra light. Medium regular, not too light. Medium regular, just regular, Medium hazelnut, milk and two Sweet and Low. Large iced coffee, skim milk and eight Splendas, A coffee role. A sweet roll (“Is that the same thing?”). Two turkey sausage egg and cheese on a croissant role (“Does sauce come on that?”) etc., etc.
Twists and turns and withs and withouts…And on and on and on it went.
All which would seem (for those who were in the line behind) like something that could turn into a nightmare.
But it didn’t.
Instead, it was fun, and it was funny. And, I’ll presume here, it made a difference in the day of everybody who was involved.
And that was thanks to the main characters, the leads in this play, who decided individually and then in partnership, to take a moment of their workday drudgery, and turn it into something lighthearted and warm, for the benefit of all.
The counter girl played her role perfectly. She kept her cool and turned on her charm when the order started getting complicated. Like many who work in service jobs, she had the look of the survivor, street wise and shrewd and long removed from any illusions about the fairness of life or what brought her here. But she had too, a warmth in her eyes that couldn’t be contained. She gently teased the customer about the complexity of his order and began to challenge his requests (“Are you sure you want that, hon? You sound a little unsure.” “Will six sandwiches be enough??? Maybe you should get a dozen.” “Is this all for you, hon? Is this going to be enough to get you through to lunch?”)
In return, the guy, thick of neck and broad of shoulders, picked up his cues, and gave it back as good as he got.
HER: “You want a tray for these coffees?
HIM: “Why? Does that cost extra?
HER: “No. I’m not trying to up-sell you.”
HIM: “Oh. you are so awesome. I’m sorry. I know this has all been very difficult for you.”
HER: “It’s not difficult for me, hon…I’m just pressing buttons on the freakin register. (pointing to her co-workers) Those are the people who hate you.”
HIM: “I know this seems like a lot but it’s just how my body works.”
HER: “So this really IS all for you?”
HIM: “Oh, ya. Everyday. Same thing.
HER: “Really?”
HIM: “No.”
Okay, so you had to be there. But that’s exactly the point. “There” is happening all around you, happening around us, all the time. Little life gems to be observed and enjoyed. Small little amusements, spiritual snacks that remind the amused how easy it is to appreciate another human being.
Because he we was already at the counter when I walked in, I never saw the customer guy’s face, but it really didn’t matter. From the moment I stepped up behind him I knew who he was. He was the fast food face of doom. He was the morning guy, the guy with the list, scratched out on a scrap of lumber or a crumpled up piece of cardboard with a piece of chalk or a broken pen. The same guy, times a thousand, that we’ve all been behind on our morning runs to Dunkies. The designated delivery guy conscripted by his workmates to pick up the morning caffeine and the calories, …and the guy who can then expect to get nothing but abuse upon his return, for taking so long and getting it so wrong.
But in this room, on this day, at least for a little while, he and his straight man partner behind the counter, were minor heroes. They spared a handful of people a few moments of their sanity. They gave us something, even just a little thing, to carry around and smile about, all day long. A little good will to pay forward, and to share.
There’s been a lot said and written this past year, and especially in these past few weeks, about “Boston Strong”… about how resilient we are here in Boston and about the toughness of our character and about the courage of our citizens. And in truth, all those things should be talked about and should be celebrated because they are real and they are valid and they are worth remembering.
But when the media party is over, when the flyovers have all passed, when the smoke from all the fireworks has cleared, when the introductions in centerfield, and at midfield, and at center ice, go to commercial and then go to black, and then away, …we’ll all still be here.
This week the outside world will look in on our world and think they are seeing Boston at it’s best. But the truth is, the best can be seen everywhere here, all the time in all the little things we do for each other, everyday. Everyday things motivated by nothing more complicated than common decency. Standing patiently in line, holding the door for a stranger, merging in traffic, clearing a hydrant, showing patience, showing compassion, showing tolerance. That’s what makes Boston strong.
Sure, “Boston Strong” can be defined by courageous recoveries and armored cars and celebrity cops.
But sometimes, it can be just as proudly defined by things like neighborliness, and civility, and the effects of working stiffs helping each other get through their day with laugh. Unsung and unseen, in small little places.
Everyday places.
…Like a donut shop.
(c) 2014 Mark Rast
In this case, the location was the “Order Here” line at the Dunkin Donuts in West Newton square. It was nine o’clock in the morning. A crappy day was on the horizon. In the parking lot, it was cars and cops and contractors and cold air. In the store, the usual cast of characters.
At the counter stood the guy. At a register, the gal. And a dance had begun.
“How ya doin?”
“I’m doin good. You?”
“…aaaa, you know.”
“Oh ya…I know.” she said. The corners of her eyes crinkling with a smile. “What can I getcha?”
At which point the guy unloaded a ridiculously long and complicated order. Small black, no sugar. Large black, six sugars. Medium regular, but extra light. Medium regular, not too light. Medium regular, just regular, Medium hazelnut, milk and two Sweet and Low. Large iced coffee, skim milk and eight Splendas, A coffee role. A sweet roll (“Is that the same thing?”). Two turkey sausage egg and cheese on a croissant role (“Does sauce come on that?”) etc., etc.
Twists and turns and withs and withouts…And on and on and on it went.
All which would seem (for those who were in the line behind) like something that could turn into a nightmare.
But it didn’t.
Instead, it was fun, and it was funny. And, I’ll presume here, it made a difference in the day of everybody who was involved.
And that was thanks to the main characters, the leads in this play, who decided individually and then in partnership, to take a moment of their workday drudgery, and turn it into something lighthearted and warm, for the benefit of all.
The counter girl played her role perfectly. She kept her cool and turned on her charm when the order started getting complicated. Like many who work in service jobs, she had the look of the survivor, street wise and shrewd and long removed from any illusions about the fairness of life or what brought her here. But she had too, a warmth in her eyes that couldn’t be contained. She gently teased the customer about the complexity of his order and began to challenge his requests (“Are you sure you want that, hon? You sound a little unsure.” “Will six sandwiches be enough??? Maybe you should get a dozen.” “Is this all for you, hon? Is this going to be enough to get you through to lunch?”)
In return, the guy, thick of neck and broad of shoulders, picked up his cues, and gave it back as good as he got.
HER: “You want a tray for these coffees?
HIM: “Why? Does that cost extra?
HER: “No. I’m not trying to up-sell you.”
HIM: “Oh. you are so awesome. I’m sorry. I know this has all been very difficult for you.”
HER: “It’s not difficult for me, hon…I’m just pressing buttons on the freakin register. (pointing to her co-workers) Those are the people who hate you.”
HIM: “I know this seems like a lot but it’s just how my body works.”
HER: “So this really IS all for you?”
HIM: “Oh, ya. Everyday. Same thing.
HER: “Really?”
HIM: “No.”
Okay, so you had to be there. But that’s exactly the point. “There” is happening all around you, happening around us, all the time. Little life gems to be observed and enjoyed. Small little amusements, spiritual snacks that remind the amused how easy it is to appreciate another human being.
Because he we was already at the counter when I walked in, I never saw the customer guy’s face, but it really didn’t matter. From the moment I stepped up behind him I knew who he was. He was the fast food face of doom. He was the morning guy, the guy with the list, scratched out on a scrap of lumber or a crumpled up piece of cardboard with a piece of chalk or a broken pen. The same guy, times a thousand, that we’ve all been behind on our morning runs to Dunkies. The designated delivery guy conscripted by his workmates to pick up the morning caffeine and the calories, …and the guy who can then expect to get nothing but abuse upon his return, for taking so long and getting it so wrong.
But in this room, on this day, at least for a little while, he and his straight man partner behind the counter, were minor heroes. They spared a handful of people a few moments of their sanity. They gave us something, even just a little thing, to carry around and smile about, all day long. A little good will to pay forward, and to share.
There’s been a lot said and written this past year, and especially in these past few weeks, about “Boston Strong”… about how resilient we are here in Boston and about the toughness of our character and about the courage of our citizens. And in truth, all those things should be talked about and should be celebrated because they are real and they are valid and they are worth remembering.
But when the media party is over, when the flyovers have all passed, when the smoke from all the fireworks has cleared, when the introductions in centerfield, and at midfield, and at center ice, go to commercial and then go to black, and then away, …we’ll all still be here.
This week the outside world will look in on our world and think they are seeing Boston at it’s best. But the truth is, the best can be seen everywhere here, all the time in all the little things we do for each other, everyday. Everyday things motivated by nothing more complicated than common decency. Standing patiently in line, holding the door for a stranger, merging in traffic, clearing a hydrant, showing patience, showing compassion, showing tolerance. That’s what makes Boston strong.
Sure, “Boston Strong” can be defined by courageous recoveries and armored cars and celebrity cops.
But sometimes, it can be just as proudly defined by things like neighborliness, and civility, and the effects of working stiffs helping each other get through their day with laugh. Unsung and unseen, in small little places.
Everyday places.
…Like a donut shop.
(c) 2014 Mark Rast
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