When I reached the cash register at my local Co-op, with my little stock of bread, fruit and vegetables, the cashier asked "Would you like Doris to help you with take-out?" Doris was a frail, smiling, grey-haired lady in her seventies, standing there all ready to bag. Co-op in Calgary, like Walmart and other stores, likes to hire lots of friendly retirees. The cashier himself, a huge black man with snow-white hair, a little out of place among all the ladies, looked to be in his sixties. I looked from one to the other and admitted I needed no help with take-out today, so they proceeded to scan and bag, smiling all the time in the friendliest sort of way. Doris then asked me, as she was no doubt trained to do, if I would be watching the Grey Cup in the afternoon. I knew it was the Western Conference final between the Stampeders and the B.C. Lions, but I like to be provocative, so I said, "Oh, no, I'll be watching tennis. It's the Davis Cup final, very important." Without missing a beat, Doris said "Oh yes, I was talking to somebody last night... Who was it now? Ah yes, my dad. And he was watching curling. I'd no idea there was even curling on, so what do I know? Eh?" And as she handed me my bag, her smile became even broader, more genuine.
