Yesterday SuperK and I ran into a woman we know casually while we were taking a walk. We inquired after he husband. She proceeded to talk for a good ten minutes about his recently diagnosed skin cancer. She did not pause for breath. She apologized for dumping all of this on the two of us, unnecessarily, I think. I believe this was an example of service. At my core, in my essence, instinctually, I don't really care about this woman or her husband. I care about me. Me, Me, Me!
There's a dude from Sweden who is often at my coffee shop reading. I saw that one day he had a book by Kafka. Kafka is not a coffee shop book. It's a graduate level comparative literature book. I know him a little now because we talk briefly about books. I am under the impression that he is pleased and a little surprised that I've noticed what he's reading and know enough about the topics to comment intelligently. A little service, maybe? Does he leave feeling a little better about himself? I hope so.
We stopped by a different coffee shop while waiting to attend a play in L.A. last night. I always - always! - ask the person providing my Overpriced Specialty Coffee Drink how they're doing and this often leads to a conversation. (I always say "I've never had a bad day" if they happen to ask how I'm doing - try it some time: it's a hell of a conversation starter.) She gave me a very cheery goodbye.
It's not that hard. Don't be an asshole. Be nice.
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