One of the blessings in my life is my home’s proximity to an Italian market. I can walk there. When I’m not buying a lot, I go by foot. If I’m buying more, I sometimes go by bike. It’s a neighborhood joint. It’s my neighborhood joint.

 

Not only is the market one of my go-to stops, there’s also an Italian restaurant attached. I’m not gonna lie here – the food is okay. It isn’t great, but it’s mighty handy to be able to walk down the street with Mister, order some pizza, pop a cork on a nice Chianti, proceed to get blotto-ed (as I’m a total light-weight) and then walk home while getting gelato-ed. No driving. No endangerment.

 

Anyway, as I frequent this Italian market on a regular basis, I want the business to thrive and continue to keep me knee-deep in imported Italian meats and cheeses (not to mention Balsamicos and Olio). I love this place. And with that comes respect. As I respect this market, I had no choice but to behave the way I did on a recent visit.

 

I needed only a few things, some prosciutto and mozzarella. And then I made an impulse purchase:  a cappuccino for the road. The gentleman behind the counter was jiffy quick with the meat and cheese. With the cappuccino, he took longer. He was like an artist, carefully mixing the ingredients on his palette to achieve the desired swirl of flavor and aroma. Clearly, he cared. As I watched him spoon the foam atop my beverage, he was so precise and focused. I couldn’t help but admire his attention and dedication to craft. He placed the to-go cup before me as if it were fragile and precious. It wasn’t fragile. It was precious.

 

And then he rang me out. He said an amount aloud and processed my bill. I suffer from delayed hearing sometimes, so I didn’t catch the amount until I looked at my receipt. The only items listed were the foods. The cappuccino wasn’t billed.

 

Now friends, I’m a regular at this place. For a moment, I wondered if he was giving me the drink, gratis. But if that were true, I needed to hear it from him. So I got his attention and pointed out the discrepancy. You should have seen his face. He was shocked. Not at his mistake, but at my honesty. He rang out the coffee, apologizing and thanking me repeatedly throughout the process. I paid that bill and took my leave. He was still thanking me as I walked out the door.

 

 

I don’t know why, but the whole experience struck me as odd. Why was he so astounded to encounter honesty? Are people constantly scamming this market? This gentleman? Are we, as a whole, so desperate to survive that we’ll take advantage of others at every turn? If nothing else, don’t we realize that any shortages suffered by our markets are then passed on to consumers? To us?

 

Okay, yes, I’m being dramatic. One can’t extrapolate so much negativity from a single occurrence. At least, I hope not. Honesty isn’t a rare commodity. I know,  because I’m honest and I couldn’t have walked out of that store without paying for everything I got any more than I can control the weather. And I’m just an average Jane.

 

I don’t know if there’s meaning behind this experience. Maybe we all need to be reminded that human beings are not only capable of goodness, but that we actually are good. Maybe I need to remember that, too. Maybe in expecting the very best from others, we receive it. I truly hope I’m giving my best. The world deserves nothing less.

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