Rkitko
07-15-2006, 12:20 AM
Her frail hand quivered in mine. It was small and smooth to the touch, wrinkled with age. The brightly colored nails looked like they almost didn't belong to her; Maybe they didn't. These were the hands that baked Christmas cookies and packed school lunches. She was full of patterned life.
Her body shook as tears began to roll down her aged face, following the wrinkled irrigation furrows. She only broke off eye contact to mutter between tears, "I've been given six months to live."
She was The Customer--the one that forced me outside of my robotic, daily routine. She required little more than a transfer to another associate who could help her complete her request, but I felt such empathy I didn't want to let her go. Comfort her, I pleaded with myself. I squeaked out a jumbled mess of apologies and cliches--when caught so off guard, who's prepared for such a thing?
"I'm ready. I know," she sobbed. Somehow, I wasn't so sure.
She left in little under an hour later. I wondered if I'd ever see her again. And if I did, would I remember her as The Customer?
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I rarely write prose (I rarely write!), so my form is undeveloped. I'm a scientist by training, and we're notoriously bad writers, except for a select few out there that appear to be statistical outliers. But I thought I'd share, since this experience obviously moved me so much to do something I rarely do--write!
Her body shook as tears began to roll down her aged face, following the wrinkled irrigation furrows. She only broke off eye contact to mutter between tears, "I've been given six months to live."
She was The Customer--the one that forced me outside of my robotic, daily routine. She required little more than a transfer to another associate who could help her complete her request, but I felt such empathy I didn't want to let her go. Comfort her, I pleaded with myself. I squeaked out a jumbled mess of apologies and cliches--when caught so off guard, who's prepared for such a thing?
"I'm ready. I know," she sobbed. Somehow, I wasn't so sure.
She left in little under an hour later. I wondered if I'd ever see her again. And if I did, would I remember her as The Customer?
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I rarely write prose (I rarely write!), so my form is undeveloped. I'm a scientist by training, and we're notoriously bad writers, except for a select few out there that appear to be statistical outliers. But I thought I'd share, since this experience obviously moved me so much to do something I rarely do--write!