The gradual, repeated assault on unfair assumptions and expectations

As we stare down the barrel of another Thanksgiving, I have the usual list of things to be grateful for. They're SO usual that I won't bother to enumerate them. But this one -- this bolt from the blue -- came at me in the pre-caffeine hours of a grubby, busy, dirty-haired Saturday morning. I'm hoping to hold onto these feelings, because I think they can change my life. Here, for your consideration, is a short tale of a chance meeting with a stranger.

Who WAS that kid in the brake shop? Why was I granted such a wonderful encounter this morning before I was awake enough to appreciate it? Or am I having a Wordsworthian moment of emotion recollected in tranquility? (That can't be it -- too many sensory impressions going on.)

This morning, I sat in a waiting room reading as my front brake pads were replaced. For some reason, I was acutely aware of the smells around me. I smelled coffee; traces of bacony-sausagy-breakfasty food; oranges; that metallic/oily auto-shop smell, which, by the grace of God, I don't really understand; incense (from the Buddhist altar on the front counter); and a faint whiff of men's cologne. None of it was unpleasant, just extra noticeable today.

In walked a young man, heavily tattooed and pierced, with pants down to there, holding a Del Taco bag. He tipped his baseball cap to me, said "Mornin', ma'am" and sat down. He asked how I was doing and wondered if I'd mind if he ate. I'm not proud to admit I prejudged him (negatively) based on his appearance, so it took me a second to recover -- bad me; I didn't expect such courtesy from a young man who looked like that. Finally I found voice enough to say "Not at all; enjoy your breakfast." He offered me a taco, and when I declined, started eating. I returned to Laura and Mary and Pa and bulldog Jack out on the prairie.

Next, I heard "Beg your pardon, ma'am, sorry." Looked up to see the young man frantically wiping his mouth to rid it of a small drop of hot sauce. I smiled and said "Perfectly all right," then returned again to the Ingalls family.

Suddenly, I heard the telltale click of a pop top and immediately smelled the most distinctive, fake cherry-ish (?) scent. My young friend had opened his Red Bull. Within seconds, every other aroma that had previously surrounded me was gone, drowned in the smell of Red Bull. WHAT do they put in that stuff to make the smell so strong that it can singlehandedly defeat ALL OTHER SMELLS so quickly?

I'll never like the smell of Red Bull. But I ADORE chance meetings with people who shake up my views and force me to question my expectations. The hopeful part of me wants to believe that kid's life intersected briefly with mine as a much-needed reminder to wait and see who people are before leaping to conclusions based on how they look.

I am genuinely grateful for those few minutes with a young stranger who reminded me of how beautiful people actually can be.