Transparent Christian Magazine

My cousin Casi agreed to watch my children for me, while I went to a lunch meeting. To thank her, I went by Starbucks to get her a drink. I thought I remembered that she didn’t like coffee, so I ordered a caramel, apple cider. I pulled up to the window, and the cashier informed me that they were out of apple cider. I said that it was okay, and changed my order to a mocha. As I handed my credit card to the cashier, she handed me a coupon.

“This is good for a free drink on us, any time you want it. You would not believe how many people have yelled at us today.”

“Really?” I asked.

The manager then told me how awful customers had been, and how much they appreciated my willingness to accept the problem of the lack of apple cider. Then they both proceeded to tell me what a nice person I was. I will admit that I left Starbucks with a giant smile on my face. I even puffed my chest out because of my astounding demonstration of a patient, accommodating citizen.

A few days later, I went to the bank. There was only one other car in the drive-thru in the farthest lane from the teller. I pulled right up to the spot next to the window. The teller never even looked up.

I thought, surely she can see me, but she just continued to count her money.

I watched the other car leave, and another car pull up.

I sighed and thought, any minute now.

That car left, and I began to feel impatient hives starting to break out on my neck.

Finally, she looked up and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

Yeah, uh huh, sure, I thought.

She opened the tray, and I placed my deposit in the tray, and she pulled it back in. My jaw sagged open as I watched her walk away from the window without my deposit. The third car drove away, replaced by the fourth car. My inpatient hives had taken over my entire body. I swear you could have seen smoke coming out of my ears. She came back to the window, and still did not take my deposit out of the tray! She proceeded to count some more money. By then the other teller servicing her FIFTH car, looked at me quizzically. I cannot repeat the thoughts that then filled my brain. With huge willpower, I clamped my lips together.

My mamma always said, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

After ten minutes, this, ummm… “teller,” finally took my deposit. As she deposited my receipt into the tray, I had reached my boiling point. I violently grabbed the receipt out of the tray squishing it into a wad, as if it was her head, and hit the gas of my minivan as hard as I could. Apparently not just muscle cars can do burnouts. The satisfying sound echoed off all of the walls of the drive through. At that moment, my conscience tickled my brain.

I yelled back, “She deserved it. That is ridiculous, taking ten minutes to process a measly deposit.” Mockingly, I continued, “She ‘didn’t see me.’ Yeah, right!”

A few days later, I had a rough day with my kids. Near the Starbucks, I knew I deserved to use my free coupon. I ordered my favorite: a venti′, non-fat, peppermint mocha, with whip cream. (I know that the whip cream cancels out the non-fat part, but it makes me feel skinnier.) As I pulled up to the window, I handed the cashier my little gift card.

She said, “Oh, that’s nice.”

I smiled, and explained how I had earned the gift certificate by my startling display of politeness.

The manager peeked her head out, and said, “Oh, I remember this lady. She was so sweet. We had run out of apple cider, and she said it was not a big deal and changed her order. We had been yelled at all day.”

I flashed my dazzling white smile, and nodded my head like a queen. Yes, I was a walking example of a patient, accommodating citizen. As I pulled out from the drive thru, I proceeded to choke on my venti, non-fat, peppermint mocha with whip cream.

“Too bad they didn’t see you at the drive thru at the bank the other day,” whispered my conscience.

My free mocha didn’t taste as good anymore. I bowed my head and repented. I managed to have grace enough to blush and be completely embarrassed.

We only get one chance to make a first impression. I don’t know what the bank teller had to do that was more important then my little deposit. I could have asked nicely, and to be honest, I wasn’t even in a hurry. Who knows how much she was having to get done, or if she had a deadline. I was only concerned with myself.

These incidents completely altered the way I treat the pizza delivery guy, nail technician, the UPS delivery man, the cashier, and—oh yeah—the bank teller!

Michelle Rocker

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Michelle is thirty-four years old, married for fourteen years, and has four children. She says Jesus has been her Savior since she was two years old. Her passions include music and writing. She has had over 30 stories/articles published in magazines including Chicken Soup for the Grandma’s Soul, a youth devotional, and a national poetry book. She is currently working on getting two books published, and finishing up a novel as well as two children church curriculums. She continues to write to glorify God, and reach others who need to know about our “amazing heavenly Father”. Please contact Michelle here: Michelle Rocker

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