The Middos Market

I love working in the fringes of society. From the crack-in-the-wall jobs, like my recent job as a cashier at a kosher supermarket, you get to see the every day  life of the society your working. Also, it's these small fringe jobs that can give you the power to change someone's mood. How many times has the nice cashier put you in a better mood or the mean taxi driver set you off? I loved making people smile and put them in a good mood, despite my actual job description: ring up items.

I saw the people who were rushing, upset, or annoyed and turned their frown upside down into a wide grin because of a little kindness. How many mothers appreciated someone trying to help them! How many people on food stamps appreciating the effort to keep their EBT cards out of sight from the people behind them in line! I love the power I had as a lowly cashier to make someone's day.

But there were also some downsides. For example, because I dealt with people from all the corners of the earth, I came across people who were not so nice. Whether they spoke to me disrespectfully instigated by my piercings (I'm still human) or just because they were in a grumpy mood, I found that the NYC pace is not good for middos (lit. attributes, someone's virtues).

Some religious people really surprised me and not in a good way either. I expect a much higher level of conduct from the religious community. Sadly, though, it took working at a market to realize that people are still people no matter in what garb.

I spoke to a rebbitzen, whom I adore, because I was upset over disparaging remarks about my Spanish coworkers from some frum employees and customers. That's when she said something interesting about middos in NYC.

Her husband comes from out of town, like myself ("out of town" is a description of anyone who was raised in the middle of "nowhere" [read: outside the Five-Towns/NY region]).  He used to bike ride to friends' houses and sit under apple trees in the spring. On moving to Brooklyn, in high school, he was shocked by the lack of consideration and pushyness devoid of proper middos. He told his wife, like she told me, he suspects that the lack of middos is because of the lack of space.

This made a lot of sense to me. With people fighting over car spaces in front of Eichler's (the Jewish book store) instead of parking in a large New Jersey parking lot, anxiety results. The same with getting your kid into the right school in an overpopulated city with thousands of kids. The same with the small checkout counter at the overpriced kosher supermarket. Without space this overcrowding has created a religious community insensitive to certain middos, especially patience and consideration.

Thank Gd I became religious and know plenty of amazing righteous orthodox Jews. In fact, I believe that they are the majority. However, sadly, there is a discrepancy between Judaism and the Jew. As an old (and somewhat disturbing) adage goes, "The worst representation of Judaism are the Jews." Sadly, it is sometimes true. Especially with middos in the market.

On a happier note, there were more then the people I cheered up. There were plenty of people who surprisingly cheered me up! One day I was going home to Jersey and at the train station platform, by my apartment, there was a women who looked disheveled and, to my assumption, a drug user. I was in a rush but managed to give her a smile as she passed. I thought she looked lonely and a little lost. She smiled back and stopped to tell me she thought I was absolutely beautiful and that she loved the red dye I used for my hair. We parted ways never to cross paths again, or at least that is what I thought.

During the next week at work, I was having a bad few days. A grumpy old Israeli woman yelled at me. She railed on and on that I was "disgusting" for having piercings. She said she wouldn't even look at me because of how disgusting and ugly I was. It took a lot of self-restraint not to tell her off, but I kept my mouth shut and finished her order. Once I finished, I went onto the next order with a fake smile and a greeting. I didn't like my job anymore.

The next day, it was super packed and I kept my head down. I didn't want to be there. I briefly looked up to see a disheveled customer with two bananas politely asking another customer, who had about a hundred items, if she could cut in front. To my elation it was the disheveled woman from the train station from the week before. Now I don't think she recognized me, but I recognized her. She gave me a grin and thanked me for helping her get ahead in line. I liked my job again.

Disheveled drug user, one.
Old religious Israeli, none.

People, like these, can make or break your day. Luckily, I met more good than bad, however, it wasn't just their actions that often intrigued me. Their names (as I took phone numbers, credit cards, and orders) peaked a special interest. One time, a young boy buying more food than an army could eat used his (or more likely his parent's) credit card, which disclosed his last name. What would you know? He was one of my rabbi's nephews! Another time, I found a relative of a friend from Israel. But two names, Wisel and Dryfys, really caught my eye. I didn't ask if they were related to the famous men who share those names, but the realization that Brooklyn is one of the mainstays of the world-wide Jewish community made me also realize that great people live here.

From the great-names to just all around great people and from mean old ladies to pushy teens, I have to say working at this job was an enlightening experience to say the least. Who knew my actual job description wouldn't even be a fraction of the real job description: ringer-upper, cheerer-upper, and observer.