To the Goth Girl I Met in Wal-Mart Last Tuesday

To the Goth Girl I Met in Wal-Mart Last Tuesday

First of all, I want to apologize if you don't happen to be goth. It just seemed like an appropriate conclusion to draw after seeing your dyed black hair, your nose ring, and your all-black clothing. Maybe today you just felt like wearing black? I have days like that, too, so I know how you feel if that's the case.

Also, I don't want to keep calling you "goth girl" for the entirety of this letter, so if you're agreeable I'll call you "Jasmine". Not because I know it's your name, but, as names go, I think it's a good one. I hope you understand.

Jasmine, you did something that Tuesday night that I absolutely loved. It's a silly thing to love, and I don't even know why I'm so fond of it. I think it's a combination of the read I picked up off of you during our short, frustrating time together, your attitude toward me and everyone in the store, and culminating in what you did while leaving.

You pushed the red button on this thing. It was such a righteously indignant reaction to Wal-Mart's we're-not-going-to-have-any-lanes-other-than-self-checkout-open-after-10pm crap, which left me smiling like an idiot the rest of the way to my car.

And you didn't even stop there! It go so much better. After pushing the button (even though you went to a self-checkout register and I managed to snag that one poor soul who has to deal with all of those self-checkout lanes, we left right at the same time), you still stopped afterwards to look at the flowers they keep right before you leave the building. It was such a "I'm so pissed off at Wal-Mart I will push this ridiculously childish sad face, but I will not let my anger stop me from looking at Beauty" kind of thing.

You had an entirely human-less experience: you shopped alone, you paid alone, and you complained alone. But even with all that, you still maintained your humanity.

Your actions left such an impact on me, that I'm sitting here writing this letter, a letter you will never read, from a person you will never meet again. But I think someone deserves to know this story, and I hope you don't mind that I share it with others.

Enjoy your life, Goth Girl. May you always hold on to that beautiful indignation, and may you always never let it control you enough not to smell the roses.

Sincerely yours,

Guy Who Was Buying Tortillas