The Line

I needed to go to a pharmacy on January 7th, 2025, to pick up something for my wife.

It had been a long day, even from the safety net of the privileged life I lead.  No bubble can protect empathetic humans from others' suffering, nor should it, despite what the richest man in the world might tweet from his fortified bunker in Texas.  

The murder of a US citizen at the hands of ICE in Minneapolis and seeing it on video hit me hard. The scene and tragic outcome hit my family hard. There were multiple waves of grief and anxiety. 

Hopelessness tried to come to the party, but I turned his ass away at the door for the thousandth time in the past year; he is not fucking welcome.

I pulled into the pharmacy, and there were fifteen cars deep in the drive-thru.   “Son of a bitch”, I said aloud to myself in the car.  So I parked and went inside.

I took long steps on my way in to try to get ahead of anyone else who might be getting in line inside the store, but I was careful not to look like I was doing that.  Which is a stupid thing to do.

When I reached the turn to walk down the aisle, I expected four to five people in line, but the line was halfway down the aisle, and I was 15 people deep.  I know this because I counted.   

Upon seeing this, I said out loud, and a little too loud, ‘Fuck me.’

Five or so people closest to me heard me, and each turned and said something along the lines of ‘Yeah, we said the same.’

Which led to a round of complaints among us… and then I was struck by something I have heard so many times…  

BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE IN THE WORLD.

So I decided to quit complaining and see if I could change the mood.  

I began to make some small talk, but at a volume where I knew most of the people in front of and behind me could hear what I was saying.

I had quickly googled this national pharmacy chain, inquiring about position cuts, staffing decisions, etc, and quickly realized that any fault for the long line had more to do with corporate decisions and supply chain challenges.

I read that information aloud to folks around me, and I ended with, ‘The people working behind the counters are doing the best they can, and they are obviously swamped as there are nearly 20 of us in line inside the store and another ten cars outside.  Let’s try to overwhelm them with kindness and appreciation for being here.’

I did my best not to sound too sanctimonious or too privileged, because having scanned the collection of humans in that line with me, it would have been easy to strike the wrong tone.

The man directly in front of me was someone I could tell worked with his hands for a living.  Perhaps a mechanic, or in construction.  He had a distant look in his eyes, and he had seen some things.  Most everyone in that line had seen some things, because that’s a part of the human experience, but this collection of humans wore their miles on their faces and in their eyes.

He agreed with me.  ‘They are doing the best they can I am glad they are here for us.’

Multiple heads nodded, and several people vocalized some type of positive affirmation.

I met a woman who had just lost her health insurance and was going to have to pay out of pocket for all that she needed, and given her long list of maladies that she shared, that was going to be an expensive visit.  But she was smiling and eventually laughing at the flow of the conversation, even though at first she was irate that the line was that long.

Another woman in front of her was in a worse situation, but she probably laughed the loudest over the time we were all standing together.  

An elderly black man behind me was incredibly positive and upbeat, and when the conversation turned to single-payer health care, which everyone in the line agreed would be amazing, he simply said, ‘It’s just not fair.’

I looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Sir, I agree with you.  There are so many things in this country that are not fair, and so many people who can’t afford to be hurt are the ones left in pain.’   

Right then, something unexpected happened.  He smiled.  A big smile.  Ear to ear.  He then nodded his head, and I am not sure if the reason he did not say anything out loud at that time was that he just didn't have anything to say, or if he appreciated a privileged white man saying those things in a sincere manner.  It could have been other reasons, too.

I know for a fact that man has seen some things in his life, and it’s for no other reason than he is a black man in his 70s who lives in America.  

I then noticed an elderly woman behind him, or at least in her upper 60s.  She was wearing a crocheted stocking cap and had a small tube taped on her upper chest.  She asked those around her if they were OK if she went to sit in one of the chairs further ahead in the line, assuring everyone she was not cutting in line, but she had literally just come from the hospital, where she had received cancer treatments.  She was out of breath even saying that sentence.  We all cleared a path for her, and she sat down.

I then asked if anyone else needed a chair, and I would bring it back to them.   Two older people did.  When the line moved, younger folks near them helped them with the chair and scooted it closer.  

Then one by one, the people ahead of me approached the checkout counter.  One woman who was about six people ahead of me was unable to get what she needed for reasons I could not make out, but I could hear her tell the person behind the counter, ‘It’s OK.  I know it’s not your fault.  Thank you for being here.’  She then turned away from the counter and addressed The Line behind her and said, ‘Thanks for the conversation, everyone. I hope you all have a great night.’  

And, somewhat like a call-and-response segment in church, each of us said something in return to her, in the same sentiment and tone.  

When it was my turn to reach the counter, one of the two subscriptions that should have been there was not available.  The man behind the counter apologized and seemed apprehensive as if I was going to berate him, probably because he had experienced that more than a few times.  

I smiled at him and said, ‘It’s OK.  It’s not your fault.  Thanks for being here tonight.’

I paid the bill, turned and faced The Line, and went up to the people nearest to me, shook their hands, asked for their names, thanked them for the uplifting conversation, and wished them all well.  It was a pharmacy version of high fives.

I then weaved through the myriad of aisles towards the exit, and thought to myself, ‘Be the change you want to see in the world.’  I smiled, inside and out.

As I was about to leave the store, I looked over and saw a young couple with a young child at the checkout counter, getting some grocery items, and I heard some anguish in the woman’s voice, saying they didn't have enough money to pay for it when they thought they did, as their debit card was short by $10.

I walked over, swiped my credit card through the reader, and paid the small amount so they could leave with that bit of food.

Her reaction gutted me.  She was so grateful, so thankful.  The gratitude she expressed was far greater than the $10 I covered for them.  It was deeper than that.   It was more along the lines of Willy Wonka near the end of the 1970s Wonka film, where Charlie Bucket returns an Everlasting Gobstopper to Willy’s desk, and Willy then breaks from his surly front he had put on, smiles, and puts his hand on the piece of candy and says, ‘So shines a good deed in a weary world.’

It was a response to an unexpected kindness in a world that is in such short supply of these things.

As I walked out of the store and headed towards my car, I began to tear up.  It had been a long and heavy day.  

However, those were not necessarily tears of sadness, though some were.  It was more tears of hope and an undying belief that there are more good people in this world than bad people.  Sometimes, we need reminders of that.  Especially in America in 2026.

The collection of people in The Line that night would have never come together other any other circumstance.  We never will again.

But I’d like to believe that everyone in The Line went home and told someone they care about what they had experienced, or if they didn’t have anyone at home to talk with, they somehow felt a little more hopeful than they had felt before walking into that store and being confronted with a long way.

Those were 38 precious minutes, and I hope they stick with me for a long time.

A man once said to me, ‘It don’t cost nothin to be nice.’

He wasn’t wrong.  

Be kind.  Smile.  Speak words of encouragement.  Give when you can, even if it’s just your time and a positive attitude.  Fake it if you have to, because that often leads to genuine joy.

We can’t make it through these times apart.  We have to come together.  There are forces at play that do not want us to come together.  They want us to live out our snap judgments; they want us to believe that those who are different from us are somehow against us, or are our enemies. 

They are wrong.  America can be better than that.  Perhaps the forge we all find ourselves in will yield strong steel on the other side of this period of history, where fairness and being our brother’s keeper are truly priorities, not just empty political promises.

Be kind.