I Always Wanted to Be a Regular, but I'm Not Sure Walgreen's Is What I Was Thinking

I've never been a huge fan of the show Cheers, but I always really liked the concept of Cheers. Not for a show, but as a way of being in the world. The idea that you could go to a place frequently enough that people would know your name, and know what you wanted to eat or drink before you actually ordered it, always struck me as really kinda cool.

Of course, living in the suburbs until very late in life, and not really developing much of a taste for alcohol until very late in life, didn't leave me with a lot of opportunities to become a regular anywhere.

But I did sort of do it twice.

My first quasi-regular status was at this "cafe" near my office a few years back. Cafe makes it sound nicer than it was, but it was the sort of place where you go in and grab a tray and then they had a grill where they make burgers and hot sandwiches, a sandwich bar where you could get cold sandwiches, and a pretty great salad bar. Eventually, I got to the point where I'd eat lunch there two or three times a week, and I'd always order the same thing. They guy who managed this place would sort of rotate from job to job -- taking orders, prepping food, cashing people out -- and he eventually got to the point where he'd have my order written before I got to the counter. I don't think he knew my name, but he knew what I wanted to eat.

I remember one time I got a salad and took it up to pay and he was cashiering. When I explained I was trying to loose weight, he got really animated and spent a few moments explaining that the trick was swapping soda for water. Didn't matter if it was diet soda or sugared, but drinking soda he was convinced made you fat. He'd lost twenty pounds just drinking water.

When I went back to ordering burgers, he just laughed and said something like, "It's hard to resist a good burger."

And then I got cancer, which made it hard to eat their food, and then my office moved which made it further than I wanted to walk to get there, and so I lost my regular status.

But I think I've picked it up again at Walgreen's of all places. I first noticed this about a year ago when the chemo treatments were sending me to Walgreen's for supplemental drugs on almost a weekly basis. I was standing in line and watching, and I realized this one clerk would ask the people in front of me their name and/or birth date, but I my case she'd just reach back in to the S basket and grab my bag of stuff. After this happened a couple of times, I actually asked her if she remembered by name or had some other trick. As she put it, she had a good memory for names and faces. Which she must've, 'cause that place is always busy.

But what really struck me was what happened this past Thursday. I, of course, looked like the walking dead, dragging my body to the pharmacy, and between the scripts I had filled and the basket full of OTC drugs I had with me, you didn't have to be genius to see that I wasn't having the best day ever. And, of course, my drug record in the computer has to read like a horror novel.

Anyway, the pharmacist was packing up my stuff and she stopped, and looked up at me, and asked, "How are you doing?" After two years of cancer, I can easily tell the difference between someone who really wants to know, and someone making small talk, This woman really wanted to know. So I explained that things were a little rough, but generally I was doing ok. So then she asked if I liked chocolate. And I said, "sure, usually." And she explained that they had some kind of chocolate cake behind the counter and she'd happily give me a piece if I wanted it. 

I laughed, and said thanks, but because I was diabetic that might not be the best choice. At which point she laughed as well, and said if I ever wanted to come in closer to when I was taking my insulin, they'd be happy to give me some of their cake.

I'm still a little confused about what this cake could've been, but I have to admit that I went home feeling better than I did when I came in. She didn't have to me kind to me, but she was. And it made a big difference.