Shopping at Hannaford's

Margaret and I were driving down the Kennedy Memorial Drive in Waterville, Maine, to do a bit of shopping at Hannaford’s. This was the day after President Obama gave his first press conference. We were both excited about his speech and his responses to the press corps’ questions. For once, we thought, we have a President who not only is literate, but intelligent, quick, honest in his responses, and actually thinks before he speaks. In fact he thinks so much that Jon Stewart, on the Daily Show, in one of his spoofs, spoofed the amount of time Obama spent thinking before answering a question.

 

We did all the shopping we needed to do. I should mention that I have a bit of a lung problem and carry a backpack oxygen tank. There’s a cannula, or plastic tube, wrapped around my ears that ends up sticking into my nose. I feel that wearing the cannula and O2 tank arouses not exactly pity, but definitely friendliness and kindness in people I run into. At Hannaford’s, this especially happens at the checkout counter. People usually offer to help me out with my bags, or do something that would help the old fart.

 

I also find that people, especially, the checkout people, easily talk to me because an elderly man with a tube in his nose and an oxygen tank on his back seems somewhat helpless. Nothing threatening here. I remember one of the inmates I used to work with when I was a volunteer Zen-Buddhist Chaplain in the prisons of New York. He was a great Zen student and really took to the practice. He even became a Buddhist. Before doing so, he had to study the Precepts, which are ethical guidelines Buddhists follow in their daily lives. He had a violent past life. But now centered his life on helping others and nonviolence. He was transferred to one prison after another. And in each place he taught the Quaker-run Alternatives to Violence programs.

 

Anyhow, one day, while he was in a prison infamous for the mistreatment the guards gave to the inmates, he was going to the yard and was accompanied by two guards. They swung their batons, or wooden clubs, by their leather straps as they were walking down the hallway. Then two other guards joined them. Then two more, and the inmate knew he was the choice of the day. Sure enough, they began to taunt him. “Hey, tell us all about this alternatives to violence program? How does it work?” Swinging their batons. He knew what they were after: retaliation, so that they could legitimately pounce on him and beat him. But he would not submit to their taunts. He was working on a particular Zen practice that consisted of the repetition of a special Japanese word: Mu. He mentally repeated that word over and over again. He achieved an inner quiet. And somehow the guards felt this quiet. The inmate told me he felt like a frightened mouse. And who’s afraid of a frightened mouse? And the guards stopped molesting him and let him go without beating him. So hurray for the frightened mouse!

 

I like to think the picture I sometimes present to the people who see me festooned with tank and plastic tube is like that frightened mouse. Nobody fears such a ridiculously clad mouse. And it frees up people’s reserve and inhibitions. They become friendly to the little mouse. They talk to him. Carry out the heavy bags or parcels. It makes them kind. And I think to myself, Hurray for frightened mice!

 

So it was not a surprise to me that at the checkout counter, when the total of the groceries was reached, Margaret commented something like, “Boy I sure could use Obama’s stimulus package now.” And the lady who was packing up the groceries said,

 

“You and me both, honey.”

 

And the cashier said, “Did you see Obama last night?”

 

“Yeah,” said the packer, “I thought he was terrific.”

 

“So did I,” said I joining in. “I sure hope it works.”

 

“Well at least,” said the packer, “we’ve finally got someone there who knows what he’s doing. I mean did you hear his speech? And the way he answered the questions they put to him? He was just awesome. He really has brains.”

 

“And how he does!” said the cashier, who had finished checking the groceries and was now helping the packer pack them, “and I didn’t even vote for him. But I’m sure with him now.”

 

Margaret said, “Let’s hope for the best.”

 

“OK!” said the packer, then, turning to me, “You gonna need help with these to your car?”

 

“Naw,” I said, “I can manage, but thanks for offering.”

 

“Sure honey,” She said. “Have a great day.”

 

March 13, 2009