I’m in the deli section of the grocery store heading for the checkout. But a very old woman is walking in front of me.
She is also headed for the checkout.
But she is moving extraordinarily slow. Which I suppose is what happens when you’re 92.
I want to walk around her, but I feel guilty.
Because a voice in my head says I shouldn’t race her to the checkout.
A voice in my head says I shouldn’t take advantage of her physical limitations.
But we both have brains.
So I use mine.
And take a shortcut through the cheese section.
When she finally gets to the spot in line behind me, I look back at her. She looks winded.
I want to comment on the cheese shortcut. How I bet she wished she’d thought of that.
But I don’t.
Because I have too much class.