How to Make the World Feel Smaller
By: Emily Steele
I was wandering through the bakery section of the grocery store on the hunt for the perfect loaf of fresh sourdough, but the loaves I was accustomed to seeing were nowhere in sight.
I made the same loop 3 times, now coming up with an alternative plan. Pepperidge Farm it is, I thought.
I stood in front of the shelf of dozens of different kinds of breads, trying to narrow my options. An older woman was behind me stocking the displays in the center of the bakery section, her yellow-white hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Can I help you find something?” she asked me. I must have looked obviously defeated and lost.
Normally, I say “no thanks,” and move on, a walking contradiction of my desire for the world to feel smaller as I push away any attempt from strangers to shrink it. But the truth was*,* she could probably help me, so I did not do what I normally do.
“I’m looking for a fresh sourdough loaf,” I said. “Normally, I find them right here, but all I see are these.” I pointed to the long baguettes in the clear sleeves with the twist ties.
“Do you like a round loaf or a narrow one like this?” she asks as she holds up two loaves from her cart.
“I like the round ones,” I say, “but I wanted it sliced…” I trail off because she seemingly doesn’t actually have what I’m looking for.
“I can slice it for you!” she says eagerly. “Come here.” She walks me over to the bakery counter and I tell her I’m just trying to make some avocado toast, but I like the bread nice and crispy and you just don’t get that crispiness if the loaf isn’t fresh. She agrees and asks me how thick I want it sliced.
In less than 30 seconds, she has a fresh loaf sliced and bagged with an extra piece leftover that she hands to me and says, “here, you can taste it to make sure it’s what you’re looking for.” It was perfect. I thanked her. We exchanged smiles, and I pushed my cart along to the butcher counter for some chicken breasts.
“Finally, someone who wants breasts instead of thighs!” the lady behind the counter exclaims at my order. We exchange opinions about chicken breasts vs chicken thighs, recipes and cooking methods, not the most exhilarating of conversations but then again, it’s a butcher counter in a grocery store.
She bags and wraps my chicken, the machine prints a price tag, she slaps it on the outside of the butcher paper, and hands it over the counter as she says, “you were so fun to talk to!” I smile and tell her thank you and carry on with the rest of my shopping.
I think about how easy it was to engage with those two people: the kind bread lady and the excited butcher woman.
I think about how simply human that was to just let them help me and have a conversation. I think about how badly I want the world to be less full of strangers and more full of smiles and waves and normal small talk. I think about how bad I am at making that happen myself.
There are so many ways to engage with the world and the people around me all the time, and yet I usually just keep my head down and avoid eye contact. I tell myself I don’t want to bother them or be “awkward,” it’s not always “safe,” and I don’t want them to think I’m “weird.” But really, I think most of us want to be connected to each other. I think most of us wouldn’t mind some small talk while we shop for bread. I think I am creating the very world full of strangers I wish didn’t exist when I pass up any opportunity to engage with them.
Maybe everyone is a stranger until you say hello and find out they’re not so strange after all.
