Tilling

Today while I was behind a cash register a senior male customer came and said to me," Don't you wish you'd married rich so you don't have to sit there?"   I answered, "Actually, I'm a volunteer."  And he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

I've been working for a couple months now,  twice a week, at a charity thrift store that sells furniture and other things.  Was pleased to get trained for the first time in my life as a cashier.  Though I'm not so great with math I'm good with money.  Apparently that sufficed.

In a way I have a hard time saying "my job" or "I'm working", as if not getting paid makes this position, and me, less smart or respect-worthy or diligent.  In reality I'm as reliable, hard working and professional as if I was getting paid.  And for this season and some ongoing dynamics of my life I am finding huge rewards and joy in this...job...there, I said it...volunteer though it be.

As one of the first people customers see in the store I get be a receptionist too, answer all sorts of questions and enter into countless mini conversations with a great variety of characters from all over town.  It's like a social smorgasbord where all the personality dishes are delivered straight to my counter.  It's also a wonderful place to serve up my quick wit like a short order cook, feeding incoming masses with speedy bites of humor and lightness for the day.  My brain and my heart are loving it.

To top it all off, I'm getting to know some co-workers, paid and not, some of whom are distinctly not boring. A few are even creative spirits and great partners in subtle absurdity which makes a mutual feast, albeit suitably hushed and straight-faced, out of so many store scenarios.  In short, for now at least, I'm enjoying the sense of community and the experience of being enjoyed and appreciated for my personality and my, yes, work in this particular world of volunteering,