Karma at Macey's Checkout

Saturday at 9:30 in the evening I headed out to Macey's to get us some last minute groceries for Sammy's birthday celebration that was planned for Sunday. Baby was asleep; husband was crashed on couch; so, I grabbed my purse and drove off alone.

I was feeling very contemplative and strangely peaceful as I walked the aisles with my basket over my arm. I say strangely peaceful, because grocery shopping on a Saturday night anywhere in Utah County is an anxiety-inducing experience: crowds of shoppers blocking your way, cutting you off, grabbing the last bag of whole wheat bread. But Saturday night was different. The store was as busy as could be expected - I had to park out in the boonies - but somehow I was different.

Everything seemed to be working together in a very Zen kind of way . . . until I reached the checkout line. I reached in my purse for my wallet. It wasn't in its usual pocket. I dug around in the main part of the purse. Still nothing. Double and triple-checked each pocket. I didn't have my wallet.

Then I remembered that I had cash in one or two of my purse compartments from some recent farmer's market trips. So I searched for all I could find. Looking at my overflowing basket, I knew $11 wasn't going to cut it. At this point it was my turn at the register.

The following exchange happened in less than fifteen seconds:

"Uh . . . I don't have my wallet," I said to the clerk. He had already swiped the milk. He looked at me, mouth open. "I could tell you our credit card number." (Long story, but I recently realized that I have our number memorized.)

"Um, yeah . . . I can't do that." He leaned slightly against the top of the milk jug. "You see, I have to swipe the card."

I was trying to think fast. I could go home and come back, but I had loads of laundry still to run and a kitchen that needed attention - I would be in for a late night. I could see if Jonathan could grab a neighbor to sit at our house while he drove down with his wallet.

There were about four families behind me in line. I was on the brink of leaving and coming back when the man behind me called out, "Put it on our card!" He and his wife were nodding vigorously.

I was stunned, grateful, and . . . mortified. "No, no. Seriously."

"Let us take care of it." The wife moved swiftly to the card swiper and ran her debit card through and typed in her PIN. "I've been in this position before," she explained. "At the checkout, two screaming kids, and no wallet."

I thanked them. Moments later, I walked out to my car somewhat in a daze. What had just happened??? I felt overwhelmingly embarrassed, yet deeply grateful. I had a long walk out to my car and ran through everything again in my mind.

As happens to me, especially at times of utter bewilderment, I found myself having a conversation with the Lord as I packed the groceries into the backseat. My feelings were torn. I'm not a charity case, but I know sometimes it's good to accept a kindness. Mostly these conversations are a bit one-sided and take place in my mind. But as I shut the door the words, "Well, I'll have to do something like this for someone else one day" came out audibly.

It was strange, but a long-forgotten memory came rushing back to me from my freshman year of college. A girl was ahead of me in line at the Grab 'n Go in the CougarEat. It was lunchtime and the serpentine line was trailing out near the tables. The girl tried two different cards and both were denied. I heard groans behind me. Without thinking twice, I handed the cashier my card and told him to run it.

"Are you sure?" He looked at what the girl was getting . . . she was getting quite a lot -- expensive stuff too.

"Just run it."

The girl never thanked me - just took her food and rushed off. (Now I understand how she may have felt.)

It's strange how the universe sometimes comes full circle. How good brings about more good. Karma is the most universal word for it. Alma calls it restoration. ". . . [T]he meaning of the word restoration is to bring back again . . . good for that which is good; righteous for that which is righteous; just for that which is just; merciful for that which is merciful."

In any case, I still feel embarrassed. I like to feel like I'm in control. I like to feel like I'm not fulfilling demeaning stereotypes (the flustered woman who forgets things). Saturday night reminded me that there are things over which I have no control. A gentle reminder that good things can happen even when I'm not expecting them and that kind people aren't limited to the circle of friends I've drawn around me.