#queerstothefront

I was shopping for cat supplies and antidepressants, as one does. I was navigating the nightmare feeding frenzy at the mall, clutching my Purina and Prozac. I despaired of ever making it through the check out.

Behold, a purple-haired angel appeared, and met my eye from across the magazine rack. She gestured stealthily for me to follow her to the unlit Bethlehem star of Checkout Six.

Divine Cashier, you were my salvation. You said you liked my mohawk as you rang up my organic catnip and all-natural, biodegradable kitty litter. I knew then why I had been chosen. We commiserated about the capitalist orgy of the holidays.

Thank you, Retail Angel. You made my day.

I don’t preach, but I thought it’d be hella cool if instead of  praying in the abstract for the unspecified ‘less fortunate’, we all just reached out where we’re at, to the folks right across the aisle. In, sometimes, the tiniest ways -- a word, a gesture. A teensy acknowledgement or a small boost to whatever small task someone might be negotiating. I see you, fellow human. Especially if those humans might otherwise be at the back of the line.