I love my name.
I know that this name simply means “me”.
My parents knew what they were doing when they named me, when they knew that I would never be anything else.
And I love it.
But not too often does my name receive compliments.
Which is fine, it just had never really happened to me before.
So I was working one afternoon and was kind of done working.
Just wanted to head on home and call it a day.
Then in walks in this darling older lady named Mrs. Steeple.
I watched her walk slowly in, her make-up all done nicely, very red lipstick, her hands shaky on the counter.
Step down from the pharmacy, and I walk over to her, already liking her. I can just see that she has spunk.
She asks for a prescription, then says,
“Oh… I can never remember your hours. Could you tell me what time you are open?”
Her hand bounces a little as she reaches for her checkbook, and I just love her for her.
“Yes. That would be no problem. Why don’t I write them down for you?” I respond.
Her eyes glitter and she nods, “Thank you! That is so sweet of you.”
I just smile and write down the hours, check out her prescription.
She turns away slowly, then glances back, her eye catching my name tag.
“Oh..” she breathes slow. “You have a beautiful name.”
I stand up straight and smile, trying to beam my thanks to her in my smile and “Thank you, ma’am. I love it.”
She nods and says, “My, a beautiful name.” Then out the door she goes.
So thank you, Mrs. Steeple, for making my day and reminding me of why I love this job- because of people like you.
and telling me my name was beautiful.