Several years ago I purchased a new set of dishes, having been assured by the saleswoman that the pattern I had chosen was “standard” and could always be added on to later.
Fast forward to this week:.
With the Jewish holidays quickly approaching, and in anticipation of having guests, I realized that my by-now-only-three-table-settings-left dinner set just would not do. Having been informed already by the local dealer that NO design stays available for so many years, I called the company to find which outlet of theirs has the biggest selection, in hope of possibly finding something similar or compatible to my present three place settings. I was told that my best bet was to go to their store in the Tel Aviv central bus station. So on Monday I traveled by the 54 bus to the central bus station, where I had never been, intent on running several errands while there. Of course I attended to all other matters before going to the ceramics store, knowing that to haul a set of place ware around while shopping would be foolhardy, to say the least.
In the end, I purchased 2 sets of 6 settings, and from there all I had to do was go to the bus stop of the 54 bus for the ride home. I will make a long story short. I ended up shlepping back and forth, up and down, and back and around again carrying two weighty boxes. The handles of my bags were cutting deeply into my fingers when the information desk I had tredded slowly to was closed, “out to lunch”. I was ready to burst into tears, frustrated, and in pain.
“Do you need help?”
Of course. A soldier, so much like my 20 year old. Someone who has learned in the army that you look out for the guy next to you. That you can’t just look the other way.
Eventually I made it home, and the dishes have been reserved for “shabbas”use; the old 3 settings are being used for weekdays. But the soldier is the one who made my day, simply by caring.
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