🔗 Share this article

This occurred on a day of rest, and I was in a foul mood, filling up my mum’s car. It was a typical gas station that doubles as a grocery store, so you run the risk of joining a queue customers carrying goods of somewhat expensive items. It's an awful situation to unfold when the sole aim is to complete a simple refueling. Terrible.

I was fourth among those waiting. A single employee working, a youthful clerk. A peculiar quality about her. When the faffer at the first position had finally paid for his purchases, his pastry, and a carton of eggs, I was certain that I heard the cashier wish him an excellent day. Odd. Perhaps I’d misheard, or perhaps she spoke and meant it ironically. The thought crossed my mind if perhaps she was a supporter in the war on delays, reflecting my irritation for those who delay straightforward customers such as myself.

I moved up, to third in the queue. The new leader of our line completed her gasoline purchase with notable efficiency. Again, the phrase came: “Have a wonderful day.” No, actually, it was “have a wonderful day”. Someone from the US? Here in Stourbridge? She had the accent, and few locals wishes anyone those exact words, or simply a good day. Very rare. It's uncommon to find many Americans visiting this town, certainly not working in petrol stations or other places.

I was second now. After an elderly lady engaged in a right old battle with her shopping cart, her purchases, her handbag and her membership pass. It went on for ever. After she finished, she too got told to have a fantastic day. Definitely from the US. I might have verified it by saying something hilarious to her, to observe that response as they gaze at you, unsmilingly, and reply with genuine earnest: “That is quite humorous.” Yet no idea came of a jest to utter.

I just had to settle the heartfelt tone – or a performance of it, which amounts to no different – while she stared directly into my eyes, to my very core, and bid me an awesome day. My spirits lifted. It was a good thing.