The Hamilton Spectator

My new best friends, whoever they are

The two women were in danger of being buried under a mound of potato chip bags

- LORRAINE SOMMERFELD

I’ve discovered who I want to be when I grow up.

It’s two people, and I don’t know their names. I don’t know much about them at all, but the little that I do has reminded me while we’re all focusing on big issues, sometimes it’s the tiniest moments that show you what matters.

I was in Food Basics. As I came around the corner of an aisle, I slammed on the brakes to avoid crashing into two women who were in danger of being buried under a mound of potato chip bags. They were both short. The chips they were after were on the top rack.

“Here, let me grab that for you,” I said.

“Dunno why they’re up so high,” said the first woman, with a slight grouch. They both had their arms stretched above their heads, doing a combinatio­n of reaching for the chips and fending off the deluge they’d set off by managing to tug one free. It was like sour cream and onion Jenga. I asked her which ones she wanted.

“Those ones,” she said, pointing. “I managed to get one. I want three.” She wasn’t indignant, exactly, but she held my gaze as if I would say something bad about anyone wanting a few bags of potato chips. “No problem. Are they any good?” “They are! And this store brand is so much cheaper than the other ones. I highly recommend them,” she said, stuffing the additional two bags in her cart. Her friend nodded, as we commented on how ridiculous the cost of such a simple thing has become.

“Well, maybe I’ll just have to try them!” I’d decided this was the best way to let them know I wasn’t judging them for buying chips because now I wanted them to like me.

As the second woman scooted some things inside the cart, I realized they were shopping together but keeping their things separate. Two friends, maybe sisters, talking as if they’d known each other forever. True to my word, I tossed a bag into my own cart.

“Now I suppose you’re gonna want my name,” my first lady huffed. “And probably my number so if you don’t like ’em, it’ll be my fault. For recommendi­ng them.” I started laughing. I promised her I would not hold her responsibl­e if the $1.49 purchase did not meet my expectatio­ns.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” I told her. I try not to buy chips because I tend to eat them all immediatel­y. But now I had committed, and putting them back would deliver a blow to a budding friendship that I felt was already on precarious ground.

“Well, whatever, we’ll see …” The two of them pushed on, chip mission accomplish­ed. The second lady was much smilier than the first.

Being taller has its advantages. Offering to reach something for someone is automatic, and you usually do that grocery store choreograp­hy where you see each other on every aisle. I kept an eye out for my new short friends, in case they needed an assist anywhere else.

I didn’t see them again until after I’d checked out, where they were sorting out if they had each gotten the right receipt. They’d helped each other pack up their groceries, and I caught myself wondering all kinds of things that weren’t my business. Were they related? Did they live together? How long had they known each other?

“You ladies have a good rest of your day,” I said instead.

“Well, I hope you like those chips,” my new friend said, almost daring me not to. They were kind to each other. They were kind to me. They were funny. I need to remember it’s the smallest interactio­ns that can have the biggest impact.

The chips were good.

I need to remember it’s the smallest interactio­ns that can have the biggest impact

 ?? RICHARD LAUTENS TORONTO STAR FILE PHOTO ?? A chance encounter in the chips aisle has Lorraine Sommerfeld thinking that sometimes it’s the tiniest moments that show you what matters.
RICHARD LAUTENS TORONTO STAR FILE PHOTO A chance encounter in the chips aisle has Lorraine Sommerfeld thinking that sometimes it’s the tiniest moments that show you what matters.
 ?? ??

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Canada