I love to dawdle, to waste time,
to drink fresh brewed coffee while reading the news
or doing a crossword puzzle.
I like playing guitar, too, though I’m not particularly good,
and don’t seem to be getting any better.
In the mornings, I like chatting with my wife
while nibbling on a bagel or a piece of toast.
I also like walking our dog, Jasper, though we just go in circles
or, more accurately, around long, tedious city blocks.
I used to enjoy chatting with the receptionist at my optometrist’s office,
Mandy, and though it seemed insignificant at the time,
I find myself missing her now that we’ve moved.
All the receptionists here seem like robots by comparison.
I sometimes feel inclined to remind them I’m a person,
but that’d be rude, and they wouldn’t understand.
They’d probably smile and say they’re just doing their jobs,
which is true, but hardly a justification.
Of all the new people I interact with now,
I’m particularly fond of a cashier at our grocery store.
I don’t know much about him,
beyond what I’ve gathered from small talk,
but he always smiles and asks how we’re doing,
and, like Mandy, it’s not just canned pleasantries.
He really means it, you can tell.
He’s one of us, I tell my wife, and she nods.
But, the truth is, he’s not particularly fast,
so we worry they’ll eventually replace him.
It’s just how businesses operate today,
as if people were machines for getting stuff done.
Then, the world will have become just a bit colder,
and we’ll have to find a new grocery store,
one that’s not yet made efficiency its God.