Walk, Don’t Jog

An employee opens the door to an REI store in Massachusetts. People wait outside, hours before a blizzard.

     “Sorry, we’re all out.”
     That sentence was uttered by an employee at a hardware store. I had asked about the availability of lanterns. A blizzard was approaching. Electric power outages were predicted. I needed—urgently needed—a lantern and a propane stove. So did lots of people. The items were hard to find.
     I drove to an REI store. They sell camping equipment. The time was 9:50 AM—ten minutes before the door opened. Several customers gathered outside. Most of them, I surmised, were seeking lanterns or stoves. Nobody spoke to each other.
     Anxiety took hold of me. I wondered if those customers would scoop up the final lanterns and stoves, leaving me empty-handed. My family and I would spend the next few days eating cold food in darkness.
     A selfish thought crossed my mind. I considered the option of rushing into the store when the doors opened, that way, I could arrive at the shelves before the competition. Were those other customers planning the same thing?
     Such behavior would be embarrassing.
     A woman smiled at nobody in particular. She said something about the weather. A man replied to her. Other people joined in the conversation. Everybody acted friendly and easy going, even if they too worried about obtaining those emergency items. That woman—the one with the smile—continued nudging the conversation forward.
     These people, I realized, weren’t poised to stampede into the store. My anxiety eased. I resolved to walk, not jog through those doors.
     And that’s what everyone did. We gravitated to the aisle with lanterns and stoves. Turns out, enough of those items were available for all of us.
     I’m glad that woman initiated a conversation. She comported herself with a dignity that affected all of us. Sometimes dignity is contagious.