“It’ll be about 10 minutes before your prescription is ready. Just hang around and I’ll call you up when it’s done.”
“Thanks,” I said, shuffling off. I decided to browse the stale Valentine’s candy bathing under the dim fluorescent lights.
This particular Walgreens boasted evident signs of its age – water-stained ceiling tiles, burned-out lightbulbs, floor stains, and a smell I couldn’t quite identify, something between mildew and cleaner.
But to be fair, this was the only pharmacy within a 5 mile radius with my medication in stock. (If you live in Atlanta, then you know venturing farther outside that boundary requires no less than 1.5 hours of travel.)
Not one to be bothered with patience these days, I settled myself into a chair next to the blood pressure cuff by the pharmacy. That’s when I saw heard him.
It began with the flop-flap-flop! of his flat feet violently smacking the floor. Soon after, the percussive rhythm of his feet was accompanied by his white cane rapping on the aisles’ metal shelves.
“Why are you being so animated,” a woman’s voice echoed from nowhere.
“Ahh shush!” he snarked back. “I’ve gotta let them know I’m coming.”
Rounding the corner where I sat emerged an elderly 6’ 7” tall man, clearly as blind as a bat, arm in arm with (and being dragged by) a much shorter and younger woman.
Both had smiles spread from ear-to-ear, and almost instantly, that worn-out Walgreens pharmacy got a whole lot brighter.
The pharmacy tech had no option but to smile back and asked what she could help them with.
“I'M HERE FOR A SHOT!” he bellowed humorously, “Not the lethal kind – heavens, no! I’m here for my fluuuuuuu shot,” he clarified, stressing 'flu' with a theatrical flair. Laughter filled the air, lightening the mood knowing his first comment wasn’t an impossibility where we were located.
His chaperone put a pen and release form in front of him and told him to fill it out. “You’ve gotta be joking. How do you think I’m supposed to do that?! I can’t see a thing! You’re trying to embarrass me, aren’t you?”
More laughter.
She playfully tapped him on the arm and guided him to a chair to help him sit. As they filled out his paperwork, they continued to make jokes, laugh, and spread so much light, I almost went blind myself.
You know what stood out to me the most about what I witnessed that day? The man couldn’t see a thing and yet he was infectiously happy!
His lack of sight did nothing to inform his ability to see what truly matters — that we’re responsible for choosing our attitude and how we approach the day.
Not our circumstances.
Not our to-do lists.
Not our kids.
Not our partner.
Not that one overbearing client.
No, we get to wake up and choose.
And that’s a truth worth seeing.
Are you new here? The Copywriter Column is a weekly glimpse into the mind of an agency copywriter. Thinking about subscribing? Here’s what else you can expect.
Amen to that! Thanks for this Matt, it's was great reminder. Made me smile.