Summit Wellness: Gratitude - "Respect The Work"
Wellness can be achieved by virtue of completing a journey and maintain a lifestyle. But it can also be magnified by our ability to appreciate and be thankful for the things that we already have! Summit Wellness continues to hum the melody of connection between feeling good and feeling grateful!
Gratitude is a monthly feature contributed by Matt Anthony, Digital Media Producer and on-air host for the Summit FM. Matt reflects on instances where we might uncover more ways to appreciate what’s in front of us, and how those instances might contribute to our overall health and well-being.
I’m sure my father broke the law in some way, shape, or form, but when I was 15 years old, he secured a part-time position for me at a local grocery market. The store was within easy walking-distance from our house. And our cupboards and refrigerator were stocked (or as ‘stocked’ as they could be, with a high school teacher trying to provide nutritional content to a wife and 7 children!) with provisions from Lemmons Market, so we all were familiar with it.
My position at the market was that of a ‘bag-boy’. ‘Personal shoppers’ and ‘delivery’ and ‘online ordering’ were light-years away. Instead, we were the conduit to the store’s relationship with its customers. We snapped open paper bags, arranged them methodically and carefully with a customer’s purchases, and (yes!) carried them to their vehicle! (and even sometimes getting a tip or two, especially during the Holidays!) I loved bagging groceries, especially during a busy Saturday afternoon. The act of finding order and balance inside of those bags…even amidst the chaos around me…was a Zen experience. (or, what I perceived Zen to be as a 15-year-old.)
One of the other duties that was required of us was to clean and sweep. On my 2nd day as a Lemmons Market employee, my immediate supervisor, Rick Miller, summoned me to the back-room. There, he gave me instructions about how to sweep the aisles, the back rooms, and, most importantly, the parking lot. “Customers see this first when they arrive, so this has to be spotless,” he said.
Rick Miller was an archetype. Short in stature, with flaming red hair and moustache, he spoke (and laughed) with an exceedingly high and very recognizable voice. And could he bag groceries! I was in absolute awe being a witness to his exploits at the bagging-area, snapping open paper sacks with both hands, flipping cans of mixed vegetables and boxes of Tide neatly and orderly into their respective vessels, and gracefully following a customer to their vehicle with military precision.
Sometimes during a break in the action, I would re-tie my apron, look down the dairy aisle, and I would catch a glimpse of him in the back-room while taking a break. With his back to me and a leg resting on a Charmin box, he would take deep drawls off his Winston Light cigarette with one hand, while the other hand lightly caressed that fiery red moustache. Inhaling, exhaling, and pondering the world as we know it.
Later in the evening, after Rick had left, I started my parking-lot cleaning duties, as he instructed. At the helm of the largest broom I’d ever seen, I coughed and sputtered as dust and debris were sent into the air, only to be gathered into large Hefty bags and deposited in the ‘box-room’, a receptacle used for storing empty cartons and garbage.
Finished and clocked-out, I was exhausted. Once at home, though, I was pretty pleased with myself. “Two dollars and 30 cents an hour multiplied by 6 hours,” I thought. Not bad. I’d be able to afford The Eagles album I’d had my eye on in virtually no time!
The next day, I left our house after school and started the slow walk to Lemmons Market for the evening’s work. Coming down the alley next to the store, I circled around the box-room and started my way into the back towards the time-clock when I nearly ran into Rick Miller. He had one foot on top of an empty milk-crate. And, again, an ever-present Winston Light in one hand, and with the other meticulously and strategically stroking that red clump of hair above his lip. Waiting. Waiting for me.
“Matt! Come here!”
My heart started to pound. But he didn’t yell at me. With a firm command, he made me follow him through the parking lot, all the way to the front of the store. And then he started.
“You missed here. You missed here. You missed right here. You missed over there by the ice cream cooler. And you missed that pile of cigarette butts by the back door.”
Then we proceeded inside, and the lesson continued. Again, he didn’t scream. He simply pointed out my errors, and he did so with authority and tact. If someone happened to walk by, he stopped until they passed, and then he continued.
Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, he asked me to follow him outside. Once we were away from customers, over near the box-room, he lit a Winston Light and he turned towards me.
“Whatever you do, whether it’s here at Lemmons, or wherever it is, always respect the work. Make it the most important thing that you’re doing, and then you can never do wrong. Take that approach with everything. OK?”
I nodded, trying to understand his words.
“Make that a part of your sweeping tonight.”
Decades later, I still think of that conversation. Lemmons Market is no more, but the alley-way that I walked down all those years ago still is. I’ve re-traced my steps there one or two times since then. The part-time job that my father secured for me, one that I had all through high school and several years of college, helped to form and shape me. In addition to being introduced to cars and other ‘unmentionable substances’, I learned about music, bands, and stereo-systems. I learned about life.
But what I’m most grateful for is the life-lesson that Rick Miller taught me. It’s one that I’ve tried to keep in my back pocket with every position I’ve ever held since then: “If you’re gonna do it, do it right.”