Thirty years at a cash register, you might think that it was tedious, but far from it. Touching hundreds of thousands of hands was a privilege, among day to day exchanges, rare in its intimacy and its replication.
Here's my story:
Customer: I want to buy this food that you have made and are selling, here is my money.
Me: I want to accept this money that you have made and proffer, here is good food.
Our hands touch and the deal is sealed. The food from my and my fellows' hands is eaten. Don't pass quickly over the word "eaten." Break it down. It is extreme touching, often with fingers and always with nose and tongue, smelling, touching with lips, putting food into one's mouth, rolling it around, feeling the texture, the temperature, the flavor, squeezing it between the teeth, the smell again, the comfort in its ingestion. Hunger satiated. Food eaten. Touch is never more intimate, more complete, literally taking into oneself from the hands of another, an act that in its frequency, is often taken for granted. It is the true essence of touch and ought never be taken lightly except when trust allows, because it is only trust that allows true intimacy to be taken for granted.
If all goes well, the privilege of the exchange, the consummation of the relationship gets repeated. Once in a while, once a month, every week, every day, twice a day...truly, an expression of confidence and comfort, an act of free will that exemplifies the meaning of trust. With some people, I shared this trust for thirty years! Each event the most narrow expression of love. All the events, an overwhelming repetition of the simplest, clearest and dearest exchange, often simply on a recommendation or reputation...this restaurant can be trusted. We were. I was.
