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The scene was a day of rest, and I was grumpy enough, topping off my mum’s car. This was a common fuel stop that also functions as a supermarket, so you run the risk of waiting behind customers carrying goods of pricey provisions. A terrible fate to occur when all you want is to complete a simple refueling. Awful.

I was fourth in the waiting line. There was only employee working, a youthful clerk. A peculiar quality about her. Once the slowpoke at the first position had at last settled for his Viakal, a baked snack, and some breakfast items, I was certain I heard the cashier wish him to have a great day. Unusual. Could be I misunderstood, or maybe she did say it and was being sarcastic. I pondered if she could even be an ally in the war on delays, sharing my contempt for individuals slowing down straightforward customers including me.

I moved up, now third in line. The new leader of the queue discharged her fuel-only transaction with impressive quickness. Again, the phrase came: “Wishing you a marvelous day.” No, actually, it was “enjoy a truly great day”. Someone from the US? Here in Stourbridge? Her tone suggested it, and few locals tells people a wonderful day, or merely a pleasant day. Very rare. Rarely does one encounter US citizens knocking around Stourbridge, and definitely not working in petrol stations or other places.

I was second now. After an elderly lady embroiled in a protracted effort with her basket, her groceries, her purse and her membership pass. This took an eternity. When she was done, she too got told a wonderful day. Definitely from the US. I could have confirmed it by cracking a joke in her direction, to see if she did that response their typical stare, unsmilingly, and state very earnestly: “That is quite humorous.” However, nothing occurred of a jest to utter.

Ultimately, I accepted the heartfelt tone – or a performance of it, essentially the same as no different – as she gazed directly into my eyes, piercingly, and wished me a wonderful day. My spirits lifted. It was a good thing.