Scene 1 - Big Box Store

I was looking at sporting goods one Sunday afternoon. For once I'd left my son home with his dad and was enjoying a little alone time - pathetically enough, spending it in the aisles of cheap imported merchandise rather than at the library or coffeeshop, but errands needed to be done. Though it was the middle of summer, the school supply bins were on display and the patio furniture was all shoved into a miserable huddle in the back corner of the store. I noticed a well-dressed, bored little boy playing around with one of the lounge chairs. He was 8 or 10, not much older than my own son. I smiled to myself and watched out of the corner of my eye as he worked the levers, figuring out the many different positions the chair would assume.

He was dressed "for church," as they say around here, in a spotless yellow polo shirt and khaki pants. "Dad!" he called. "Dad, come check it out!" I glanced over and saw an older, silver-haired man who was perusing expensive end of season items with his well-coiffed, carefully dressed wife. They were ignoring the child so actively, I thought they must just be that sort of older couple who really hate children and noise, and were probably annoyed by the boy's loud enthusiasm. They talked over his voice, raising theirs pointedly as they discussed prices and colors.

"Dad! Dad! Lookit!" The child finally got up and trotted over to the older man, touching his arm. "Dad?"

The man rounded on the boy. "What - do - you - WANT?" he hissed, his face reddening. He glanced up and saw me looking directly at him. I was feeling the scalding memory of my own dad's dismissive hostility all too clearly, and I'm sure - I hope - that my scorn was visible.

He pulled himself tall and spoke in a nicer tone. A fake, too-nice tone. "Yes, son?" The crestfallen boy listlessly showed his dad the different positions the chair could assume while the older man feigned enthusiasm.

A moment later they passed by me. The dad's hand lay heavily on the boy's slight shoulder. In a hearty and apologetic voice (again, causing a remembered twinge in my own gut), he said "I know, who wants some ice cream?" The boy was looking at the floor. The wife caught my gaze as she trailed behind them. She looked ashamed.

Scene 2 - Second Rate Grocery

The guy ahead of me in line is tall, rangy, and red-faced in that way that laborers and dedicated alcoholics almost always are. He looks just the other side of clean and not too well fed. He is buying a meager package of chicken thighs, store brand canned soup, and cereal. He fumbles with the electronic keypad. "Debit or Credit?" the cashier asks. He mutters  something and swipes the card again. "DEBIT OR CREDIT?" the cashier asks again; sharp, loud, and impatient. He waves his card in the air and yells at no one in particular "FOOD STAMPS, OKAY? Now the WHOLE STORE KNOWS I'm ON FOOD STAMPS!" He shoots a glance at me and I say quietly "You and a whole lot of other people, these days."

He completes his transaction and stomps off. I gaze at the cashier levelly, with my eyebrows raised a little. She looks uncomfortable and fluffs her crispy, frosted curls. "Well, I can't help it if he's embarrassed, can I?" she asks me. "Debit," I reply.