A wry smile sneaks onto my somber face

when I identify the cashier at the end of this long, long line.

Her nametag reads BRENDA

and she’s started wearing barrettes in her hair.

 

It does not fail—

if I am tired

or prickly

or hurried,

if nothing has gone right all day long,

if my sanity clings to the edge with two flimsy fingernails,

BRENDA

will be my cashier,

like this is just another question on life’s big test,

the one I can’t quite seem to pass.

 

BRENDA gets overwhelmed easily

and she’s not the brightest crayon in the box.

She usually has to call for help

and I watch my express line halt

while lines of overflowing carts race past.

 

I could switch lines,

but you know how that goes—

the cashier in the new line would run out of dollar bills

and need to do a price check

or call a manager for approval…

 

So I stay put,

trying hard to be grateful

for this lesson in patience,

for the opportunity to steal a few deep breaths,

for BRENDA,

my teacher.