As the world becomes more and more chaotic, we can choose to either be mad or kind. Both are contagious, so what would you rather spread? Glenn reads an article that recounts something we are probably all familiar with: Leaving a grocery store parking lot. The writer recalls a stark distinction between two people: One man who was cursing up a storm and an older man who lent a helping hand and kind words. “Your attitude is a choice,” Glenn says. So, what choice will you make today?
Transcript
Below is a rush transcript that may contain errors
GLENN: Let me start with something I read on the Blaze today.
It's the Kroger checkout aisle. The woman in front of me has tried three different credit cards so far, and none of them have gone through. A few aisles away, a baby cries until her mom places an i Pad in front of her. She descends lazily, into the virtual world where she'll probably live most of her life.
I'm inspecting the quality of everything in my cart. Seeing if there's anything I could negotiate a discount for, while rethinking that bottle of Kombucha I grabbed. Do I really need that?
The woman bagging my groceries appears to be old enough to have comfortably retired by now. But instead, she's trying to lift my 12-pack of toilet paper into my cart. While I stop and tell her, I can handle that.
Maybe I've just been too wrapped up in my head to really take stock of the sincere moment of connection at the grocery store entrance.
It was just a brief blur of humanity in increasingly disconnected world. When she tells me the total, the cashier gives me a sympathetic look. It adds up fast now, huh. I give her a weak chuckle.
Yeah. Yeah. Sure does. Neither of us say, thanks Biden. But somehow we both know that we're both thinking it. And our smiles just widen a bit.
In the parking lot, there's a man on a speaker phone with somebody he's very angry with. He's shouting profanities into the phone, dropping N-words like he's J. Cole. I know he sees me loading my groceries in the back of my Kia Soul right next to him.
We made eye contact when he yelled into his i Phone about being disrespected.
It's one of the most beautiful Texas afternoons, I've seen in a long time.
There's not one. I mean, literally, not one single cloud in the sky.
The air has maintained the lingering crispness of a colder temperature, as the sun melts the winter away.
Someone cuts me off, in the way out of the parking lot.
And I realize, I can't blame Biden for that. I used to think the universal test of your humanity was whether or not you put your shopping cart into its designated shopping cart. But I think the bar is significantly lower now.
The new test is if you can handle grocery shopping without cussing somebody out.
I'm not angry because I'm still thinking about the old man I passed at the Kroger entrance. He was wearing a hat that I believe said he was a veteran from the Korean War.
He stopped the young man, whose job it was to pick up the carts that were scattered haphazardly in the parking lot, and return them to the store.
The old man shook the young man's hand. And said something that sounded like, you're doing good work.
I thought maybe he knew the young man.
Maybe it's a neighbor. That works at Kroger.
Maybe these men were neighbors too.
I don't know. It's not a big town.
Or maybe he didn't know him.
Maybe I had misinterpreted the whole scene in my usual distracted rush to get my groceries without collapsing into despair about the price of garlic.
Maybe I've been too wrapped up in my own head, to really take stock in the sincere moment of connection at the grocery store entrance.
It was just a brief blur of humanity in an increasingly connected world. I had a moment, watching the woman if you understood to find a card that wouldn't be declined.
When I thought, maybe I should just offer to pay.
But her card went through right before I acted. But I could only -- I could only trace the impulse back to that old man at the front of that old entrance. He was kind to somebody at the grocery store.
Maybe I could be kind too. I realized while driving the uncrowded Main Street back home. That humanity is equally as contagious as inhumanity.
But significantly less engaging.
I couldn't help, but remember the details of the man yelling into his phone. But the random act of sincerity by the old man, that went almost unregistered by me.
Headlines today are plastered with the end of the world. He killed her. They hate him.
Rarely is there an article about the old man who shook the young man's hand on a Sunday afternoon at the local grocery store.
Or the neighbors who finally escalated their friendship from an occasional hello. To the planning of game night.
The graduate of AA being baptized at church. Or the parents who worked it out, instead of splitting up. The countless stories of people who had every excuse to despair, to lash out, but didn't.
We don't read those stories. But we do live them.
I'm pulling into my the driveway where my husband is waiting to help me unload. We go on a short walk around the neighborhood. Notice everyone who has painted their door, or is having a cookout.
The sun is now setting, in that kind of endless skyway, Texans brag about.
We brag about it, when we get a call from a relative someplace else, asking how we are.
Ah. We're actually doing very well.
This is written by one of the newer members of my staff.
She is a remarkable woman. And when I first hired her, I said to all the other producers, she's not depressed yet.
Keep all of the news away from her.
She just has a way of looking at things, and seeing the good things in life.
And it's not because she doesn't read the news, she does. She just has a different outlook. Because she just -- I think -- as many of my staff do. They walk with God. Try to walk with God.
And somehow or another, she just has some armor on her, that I lack. And I'm a better man. Because I work with her.
And I work with -- I work with the best team ever. Except for Stu.
I go home, and my wife says, how was your day?
Hmm. Usual. Another better day in America.
And we laugh, or we commiserate, because she's been outside in the grocery store.
You know, one of our problems is, in fact, it may be our biggest problem, we're not grateful anymore. We're not grateful for anything, really.
We're not. You know how great we have it, still yet today?
With all of the problems that we have. And we've got big ones.
We're still the luckiest people in the world. Our standard of living is insane. Insane.
Even when we're struggling, we're better off than anybody in Europe.
Take a minute to notice. Don't let the bad things just impact you. Let the good things impact you as well. Maybe if you go to TheBlaze.com and you find this story, fear and loathing in the Kroger parking lot, read that, and then read the comments underneath it.
It's amazing how many were like, oh, yeah. I just saw this.
Or, you know, I'm going to do this. I stand by this audience. It's just different.
Read that article. Share it. Share your just in the comments. Better yet, just do something.
I don't think that guy in the -- in the hat, knew that guy.
I was raised by a dad, who could have fought in Korea.
He joined the Marines. And he was flat-footed. So they kicked him out.
He so wanted to be a marine. But he used to notice, people that were not noticed, all the time.
He was the kind of guy that was so embarrassing when I was growing up.
You know, I was -- we would go into a restaurant, and somebody would be really good. And he would say, can I see your manager?
I'm like, Dad.
And before he would leave, he would always say, you have an amazing server here.
You have an amazing employee. Sometimes, that's more valuable than a tip, I think. I mean, leave a tip. My dad used to leave tips too.
But nobody communicates with each other anymore.
I was in the parking lot of a grocery store, just a couple of weeks ago. I did the same thing with a guy. I was watching him. Young guy.
And he was rounding up all the shopping carts. And I thought, you can't get anybody anymore.
I was at a Popeyes. My wife is still gone, so dad made chicken last night. And I went through the Popeyes. And this guy was brutal. Just brutal. I've never been to a Popeyes where it wasn't a brutal experience. It's kind of like, it's great chicken. You know. They practically throw it at you, you know. But this guy was just awful. Miserable. Miserable.
My daughter, because I forgot my wallet, my daughter paid.
And she had Apple Pay. And this was his response. He just -- he opened up the window and he said, I don't remember. $480, please.
And before we could, you know, respond to the, oh, my -- hey, you're shouting at us. Wow, that's a lot of money for some chicken.
My daughter said, I have Apple Pay.
He said, oh, perfect.
And I'm like, I don't -- why?
Why? It's a choice, your attitude is a choice. How could you choose to be like that all the time?
So this guy was rounding up the shopping carts.
And I thought, man, look at him.
He's, actually, working hard.
And I went up to him too. And I said, hey.
Good job. Thank you. And I helped him push some stuff in.
I don't know if that made a difference in his day. But it did mine.
Just noticing, somebody working hard. Somebody trying to do the right thing.
