Please proceed to register eight.
I smiled, as much as you can smile in a mask, and waved at a black man approaching the checkout queue. When he arrived in my lane, he stopped dead in his tracks with a big smile.
“Woah, no way. No way!” He exclaimed.
“What’s up?” I asked, somewhat pleasantly surprised.
“Walking up here, I saw your light on—number eight. And I thought, ‘I love the number 8 so much, it makes me smile. Huh…Why do I like it so much?’ AND then I remembered my birthday is in August—AND THEN I get up here and YOUR NAMETAG SAYS ‘AUGUST.’ DO YOU KNOW WHEN MY BIRTHDAY IS!?”
“When?” I asked; I was totally digging his excitement.
“It’s August 8th, 1988! 8/8/88!”
“Dude that’s so cool. You wanna know something funny? My birthday is August 7th.” I chuckled.
He smiled wide, “No way! You’re screwing with me! For real!?”
“For real man, no lie.”
And we had a nice little conversation as I checked him out. I dissociate a lot at work trying not to be stressed about being immunocompromised at a grocery store where no one masks anymore, so small interactions like that help me remember that most people’s ignorance is not out of malice. It was just really cool to see another person having such a good time doing nothing but being out buying groceries and socializing with a stranger like me. It was a neat interaction and I hope I remember it for a long while.
