When "Have a good day" is Callous

"Have a good day."

I say it. You say it. Customer service representatives say it--sometimes mindlessly, which may feel callous.

A low-speed "bump" into a trailer hitch transformed our car into mangled origami. The car limped to a public parking lot. 

We called the insurance company.  The agent asked some questions and ended the conversation with "Have a good day."

Ding, ding, ding, ding. The alarms rang  in my head. Our car was disabled in an accident and it needed to be towed. So how good a day did she think I was having? 

Empathetic communication would have been "Gee, I'm sorry."  "That's tough, but we're going to ..."

Five hours later the first towing company said "it can't be loaded because the electrical system is dead. We have to arrange for a special wrecker which has a fork lift type system." He politely finished, "Have a good day."
Really? 

More phone calls followed. The car was totaled. We'll have to replace a car we've for a short time and was a great deal. Or would have been, had it survived.

Bill calls these events "life taxes." Expensive garbage you have to deal with because you're alive and privileged enough to have "stuff."

The financial fall-out of the accident is a pain in the patootie. But Bill is unharmed, so I shouldn't fuss.

While I was still fuming I stopped to talk to my 76 year old neighbor.  I asked after her husband's health. He's 87 and in a care center "disappearing before my eyes" she said. I grabbed her hand and we both cried. 

Chatting with her sure put my complaints into perspective. She reminded me I was having a good day. 

Ignite a Memory

Lighting a morning candle at my desk has become a ritual. It offers cheer while the sun comes up, and signals the beginning of my study and writing time. 

The other morning I pulled out a matchbook. Looking at the cover, I recalled the moment I snagged it from the restaurant greeter's podium in a large glass bowl.  We were at the Old Ebbitt Grill in Washington D.C.  Happy memories of the trip we took with our grandson three years ago were as close and bright as the shimmering flame.

How marvelous that our brains can store details and bring them to life in an instant. It only takes one stimulus to start a chain reaction.  Feeling the smooth, shiny cover of the matchbook spurred memory of the sounds of clinking silverware and lively conversation. I remember our table's placement in the dining room, and the painting of a nude woman hanging by our table.  My grandson, 10,  glanced at it and acted so cool, like he was used to naked ladies hanging on the walls.  My brain recreates a whiff of the grilled cauliflower “steak” on its past our  table. We enjoyed conversation about what we’d already seen and the Spy Museum we’d see after lunch. I proudly watched my grandson use his best manners, appropriate for a table covered in linen. All that, just from picking up the matches.

Recently I used up the last of the table favors from by daughter’s wedding in 2002. It evoked the conversation when she wondered why she ever ordered matches. I can see the vivid flowers on the tables, the beautiful blue sky, and  the perfect July temperature. I feel the joy when her dad in his tux lead her down the path in the rose garden, and her brother-in-law performed the ceremony. So many moments relived in a split second! I’m sorry to see the last of the matchbooks used up.

We non-smokers don’t have much use for match books, but they do make perfect souvenirs.

I think I’ll go digging around my drawers and see if I have any more of the little cardboard matches that fire the synapses in my brain.

Go rummage in the kitchen. Where are your matchbooks from? What do they set alight in you?