Andy Young: The simple pleasure of interacting

By Andy Young

About a week ago I stopped for groceries on the way home from work. I needed bananas, oranges, fresh spinach, brown sugar, and milk.

It didn’t take long to find everything on my list. I also picked up some blueberries because they were on sale; two boxes of store-brand Rice Chex, because I remembered I was running short of cereal; and a box of generic wheat crackers, because I went shopping when I was hungry, which I recalled too late was the first thing the professor for the “Personal and Family Financial Management” course I took in college told us never to do.

When I went to pay there was only one checkout line open, so I dutifully lugged my nine items to a spot behind a person leaning on a cart that was overflowing with groceries. She was behind an individual who was buying a bottle of wine, who was behind the first person in line. His numerous purchases were being scanned by an adolescent cashier, who then sent them down a belt to a second teenaged employee, who carefully placed each item in one of the customer’s cloth shopping bags.

It looked like I’d be waiting a while, but then, for no apparent reason, the tiny, older woman in front of me asked if I’d like to go ahead of her in line. I told her that wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. “No, really. I’ve got all this stuff, and you’ve only got a few items,” she said. “You go first.”

So I did, and got checked out in a flash, since both the cashier and the equally youthful bagger perhaps inspired by my new friend’s courtesy, were exceptionally efficient, friendly and accommodating.

That woman’s random act of kindness probably allowed me to get home three or four minutes earlier than would have been the case had we each maintained our respective places in line. But the generosity of spirit she showed with her tiny bit of thoughtful unselfishness has paid off in far greater ways than just that.

A few days later I made another post-work trip to the grocery store, got my 10 or so items, staked out my spot in the checkout line, and prepared to wait my turn. A moment later a young man who was probably less than a third of my chronological age got in line behind me, clutching a lone can of soda. I invited him to go ahead of me. The genuine appreciation he expressed made my already pretty good day into a great one. He enthusiastically pledged he was going to let a whole lot of people in front of him the next time he had a cartful of groceries, and I don’t doubt for a second that he has.

So why, a cynic might ask, didn’t I just get into one of the four self-checkout lines that the local grocery store has installed in order to save time?

I suppose I could claim it’s for the same reason I always walk into my local credit union and stand in line to cash my check, rather than use the automated drive-up teller outside: so I can interact with someone who is as happy to serve a cheerful person as they are grateful to have a job that feeds and clothes them and their family.

But the real reason I choose to deal with actual people rather than soulless, computer-powered machinery is a selfish one. I truly enjoy direct communication with other human beings and choose to believe they appreciate being cheerfully interacted with at least as much as I do. <

Andy Young: Reaching for a favor

By Andy Young

Far be it from me to contradict Benjamin Franklin, the renowned scientist, inventor, publisher, and diplomat who served as America’s first postmaster general, but I can’t help thinking he was feeling a little cynical when he wrote that the only sure things in life were death and taxes. 

If I were asked to list life’s sure things, I’d add a third one, which is that several times a year, some random individual I’ve never laid eyes on before (and likely will never see again) will, intentionally or by accident, do something to make my day.

A recent example of this pleasant phenomenon occurred last weekend inside a Biddeford grocery store. A woman was headed down the “Baking Needs” aisle at the same time I was proceeding up it. Nothing was blocking our respective paths, we were headed in opposite directions, and each of us was courteously keeping our cart to the right, doing our part to avoid creating one of those dreaded Saturday-afternoon-grocery-store-aisle bottlenecks.

I might not recognize this Heaven-sent woman if I saw her again, and that’s a shame. But she wasn’t any more memorable physically than I am.

Like most of humanity, she wasn’t unusually short, tall, slender, or heavyset. She was wearing a white ski jacket, and while I don’t think she had glasses, I wouldn’t swear to it. She could have been a 30-year-old having a tough day or a well-kept 60-year-old.

I probably wouldn’t have noticed her had she not, as our carts got to within five feet of one another, flashed me a beatific smile. When I returned her cheerful expression, she stopped, then hesitantly asked, “Sir? Can you do me a favor?”

Even before she elaborated, I knew the exact favor she was going to request.

“Would you be able to reach that box for me?” she asked, pointing to a gluten-free cake mix located at the very back of the second shelf from the top. And as I always do in these situations, I eagerly and enthusiastically granted her request.

Full disclosure: my skill set is severely limited. Had this woman asked me to jump-start her car, change her tire, repair an electronic device, or perform any other task involving mechanics, carpentry, plumbing, electricity, or any other useful skill, I would have had to shame-facedly turn her down, because I possess no qualifications in any of those areas.

However, when it comes to fetching items located in high places, well, my unusually long arms are just what the doctor ordered. (I’m also pretty good at changing light bulbs located above the reach of most people, but really, how often does anyone get asked to do that in a grocery store?)

After I fetched the cake mix in the blue box (not the brown one) for her, she thanked me warmly and genuinely. However, before we each headed back to our respective reality, I had to tell her the whole truth, which was that it was she who was doing me the favor.

Nothing strokes a man’s ego (or at least this man’s ego) like being able to use his unique abilities to help others. I had entered that store feeling like a nobody but strode out of it imagining I was Clark Kent’s alter ego.

The impromptu interaction I shared with that lovely woman last weekend reminded me of how easy it is to make another person’s day. More people should aspire to brighten someone else’s existence when circumstances allow it.

Better yet, we should all be prepared to spring into action when an opportunity to create a spirit-lifting scenario presents itself. <

Insight: The Never-Ending Saga of Snackin’ Simplicity

By Ed Pierce

Managing Editor

When it comes to snack foods, I’m all about simplicity. That seems to be a concept that’s been forgotten of late by food manufacturers. 

Take for example, one of my favorite snacks. As an elementary school student, my mother didn’t want me to eat a lot of snacks when I got home from school because it would ruin my appetite for supper. She would allow me to have a glass of apple juice along with a small bowl of Cheez-It snacks while I did my homework.

For me, Cheez-Its quickly became one of my favorite snacks for life as I enjoyed the taste and the crunch. I also liked them with a bowl of soup during cold winter months, even if they became soggy when floating in my soup bowl.

Baked Cheez-It crackers were first introduced to American consumers in 1921 by the Green & Green Company, a cracker manufacturer in Dayton, Ohio. They are rectangular one-inch snacks that are bright orange in color, tasted cheesy and adorned with salt. In 1932, Sunshine Biscuits purchased the Green & Company Bakery and manufactured the popular snack until their company was acquired by Keebler in 1996 as a subsidiary. Five years later, cereal manufacturer Kellogg’s purchased the Keebler Company and the rights to Cheez-Its.

As I grew older, Cheez-Its became more than just an afternoon snack, it grew to rival potato chips and pretzels among side items I asked for in my lunches and a snack that I could carry around in a plastic bag in my coat pocket for munching on in my professional career as I covered basketball and football games for the newspapers that I worked for.

My parents loved Cheez-Its too and liked that it was a product that could last a long time in the kitchen pantry when they bought multiple boxes.

Somewhere in the 21st century though, the simplicity of the Cheez-It was exploited by the manufacturer and supermarket shelves were expanded to now include more than 40 different sizes and flavors of Cheez-Its. Shoppers are faced with a bevy of choices and could stand there for some time trying to decide which box of snacks to take home with them.

During my weekly visit to the grocery store last weekend, I observed more than 22 different types of Cheez-Its for sale there.

There were Cheddar Jack; Cheez-It Bigs (a saltine-sized cracker suitable for dipping); Chipolte Cheddar; Extra Toasty; Grooves Sharp White Cheddar; Mozzarella; Pepper Jack; Reduced Fat; Hot and Spicy; Original; Provolone; Duoz Sharp Cheddar and Parmesan: Grip’z mighty thins; Duoz Jalapeno and Cheddar Jack; Duoz Bacon and Cheddar; Italian Four Cheese; Snap’d Barbecue; Snap’d Jalapeno Jack; Snap’d Cheddar Sour Cream; Snap’d Double Cheese; Grooves Scorchin’ Hot Cheddar; and Grooves Zesty Cheddar Ranch.

That’s more of a sensory overload that I typically can stand while looking over the supermarket shelves to choose a snack item. But on that day, my decision came down to two simple options. I was able to narrow the field down considerably by eliminating the more exotic flavors leaving just Cheez-It Original or Cheez-It Extra Toasty. Having had both kinds previously, I selected a box of the Extra Toasty flavor, added it to my shopping cart and continued down the aisle.

About 35 feet west of the Cheez-Its, cookies were displayed on the shelves and again I was faced with having to make a choice over which type of Oreos to purchase.

This day I found Oreo flavors included Toffee Crunch; Ultimate Chocolate; Original, Chocolate Crème; Golden; Strawberry Cheesecake; Birthday Cake; Red Velvet Cake; Lemon; Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie; Double Stuff; Thins; Golden Thins; Fudge Dipped; Brownie Batter; Berry Burst; Lemon Twist; Cookies and Crème; Waffles and Syrup; Java Chip; Dark Chocolate; Caramel Coconut; Carrot Cake; and White Fudge Covered.

A dazzling array of flavors, but being old and a traditionalist, I chose a package of original Oreos to add to my shopping cart.

The good old days appear to be over for shoppers seeking simplicity on their trips to the grocery aisles. Everywhere you turn in 2022 choices among favorite brands and products appears to have suddenly blown up.

Be it Hellman’s Mayonnaise with 11 different types available or Kellogg’s Pop Tarts with seemingly new flavors offered on each subsequent visit to the supermarket, options are abundant and plentiful. Boston Cream Pie and Apple Fritter flavors are the newest Pop Tarts being sold, but my purchase of a box of Frosted Cinnamon Roll Pop Tarts drew the attention of my wife, who has long preferred the Frosted Brown Sugar Cinnamon kind.

During my latest visit to the store, I counted a total of 23 different types of Pop Tarts there, and I noticed several other different flavors were also offered at a different store when I had to go in there to pick up an item we needed for dinner.

I remember reading a few years back a quote from author JK Rowling that mentioned that the choices that we make show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

If that’s the case, please put me down for a box of Extra Toasty Cheez-Its. <

Andy Young: OMG! Doing battle with forgetfulness

By Andy Young

Special to The Windham Eagle

Not long ago I was walking, cloth shopping bags in hand, toward the entrance of my local grocery store. Passing a young woman wheeling her purchases out into the parking lot I flashed her a friendly smile and was rewarded with a disgusted scowl. Seconds later an older gentleman looked at me, shook his head in either sorrow or revulsion, and quickened his pace toward the door. I barely had time to contemplate what the chances were of encountering two such unfriendly people back-to-back when the teenager disinfecting the shopping carts near the entrance glanced at me, then gave me a look of utter contempt most people in these parts reserve for drug-dealing, child-molesting New York Yankee fans.

That was when I realized I had forgotten to wear my mask.

Nine months ago, the police would have been summoned had I entered a place of business wearing a mask, but today not wearing one is akin to treason.

Selective memory is a type of amnesia where a person can summon certain facts, yet somehow cannot retain other (often important) information.

I believe I am afflicted with this malady.

Some utterly random information is so hard-wired into my brain that I couldn’t forget it even if I wanted to. Unfortunately, little of that material is of much use. My ability to recite the name of every member of the 1969 New York Mets has given me some private satisfaction over the years. But it’s occurred to me that perhaps my inability to recall certain things I desperately need to mentally possess is being caused by too much clutter in between my ears. I’d gladly give up knowing all the state capitals, Cleon Jones’s lifetime batting average (.281), and what the 19th president’s middle initial stood for (Birchard) if I could just recall where I left that book I was reading, remember where I last saw my car keys, or recollect whichever secret computer access code I need at a given moment. The latter problem has gotten so bothersome that I recently changed the password on all of my electronic accounts to “Forgot your password?”

Then some years ago I discovered acronyms. NASA, AARP, UFO, and the like were so easily remembered that they became part of America’s everyday lexicon, so I figured maybe such abbreviations could help me be less forgetful. Knowing I needed four vital items before leaving for work, I invented a mantra I began chanting to myself every morning: KWWC. Keys, wallet, watch, comb. KWWC. KWWC. KWWC.

And it worked! So well, in fact, that I got cocky and decided I didn’t need a crutch to aid my memory anymore. But the reception I got outside the store a few weeks ago convinced me it was time to go back to what had worked before, ASAP.

Times change, though. These days I no longer need a watch since the school where I teach has clocks everywhere. I’ve also stopped carrying one of the other KWWC items. Like many men of my vintage my once-lush locks are now significantly thinner, and thus I need a comb these days like LeBron James needs platform shoes.

My current memory-jogging acronym of choice is KWPM. Keys, wallet, phone, mask. KWPM.

Is it the answer to my memory problems? IDK. That’s still TBD. But since adopting KWPM it’s been more than a month since I ‘ve left the house without any of my four essential items.

Okay, there was that one awkward day. But I learn from my mistakes, which is why I’m confident I’ll never arrive at school without a shirt again. <