It’s a sunny Saturday in June, and I’m working the morning shift at the candy shop in the
middle of town. It’s called Sweet Annie’s, and from Thursday to Sunday we get the weekend window shoppers stopping in to sample something new.
Whether it’s boxed candy by the pound or the perfectly sweetened macaroons in packs of six, everyone is satisfied when they come to shop.
In comes our most faithful regular, with a fistfull of coins and arms filled with the trinkets and goodies she has collected along her regular route down Butler Avenue. She is a middle aged
woman of color, with the brightest smile and widest eyes you’ve ever seen. For a few minutes, she’s practically like a kid in a candy store, spending every last penny she can spare on each new gummy we have in stock that day.
“Good morning, Harriet!” I say as she walks into the store. “How much have you got for me today?”
I scoop up the fistful of change, placing it into the register before leading her to the rows of bulk candy. As she does every time she comes in, she insists I choose for her what she will have for the day.
I choose a little bit of Swedish Fish, a few Sour Patch Kids and some Tootsie Rolls to round it all out before I secure the bag with the pink silk ribbon we keep by the register.
She never gets much, averaging about 50 cents worth of candy each visit. But the few wrapped bits of sweetness she gets in her limited quantity are also a few moments of sweetness she gives me each time she visits the shop.
As habitual as she is regular, it’s always the same routine with Harriet. Take and count her change, scoop her candy, always tie the bag with a bow, always the pink tissue paper in the bag, always a printed receipt and most importantly, always a Sweet Annie’s sticker on the bag — so, as she says, everyone knows where she got her candy from.
Some may view this as an annoying, tedious interaction, but to me, it is so cherished.
When Harriet arrives, you have no choice but to stop what you’re doing and talk to her. I can see the inconvenience when the store is packed on a festival Friday, or after a Saturday morning little league soccer game. But, our not-so-little kid in a candy store by the name of Harriet is just as eager as the rest of the children waiting for their sweet treat.
There’s something about her joy that is unparalleled to that of any other customer entering the store. Our typical demographic, as I am sure you can imagine, is either the kid begging their mom for a cavity or the nostalgic adult looking for the sweetness they haven’t experienced since childhood. Harriet is the rare case of an overlap — she never really lets her experiences venture her toward nostalgia, and she always gravitates near what makes her content.
Adults typically lack attention toward the little things which provide us with joy. We tend to shift our focus toward our burdens and let them overpower certain moments.
My interactions with Harriet, while admittedly cumbersome, have demonstrated a way of life where appreciation for what’s understated is no longer a chore, rather something more subconscious.
We shouldn’t have to focus too hard on doing things that make us happy. We shouldn’t have to push our joy aside for what has been deemed more important.
There’s no denying the fact that in growing up the innocence may be gone, and the light may dim, but can the reality be that we dim that light ourselves? It is easier to blame a bad day, week or year on a factor bigger than ourselves — I know I am certainly guilty of that — but perhaps the truth we can’t accept is that we don’t take the opportunities we are given to make the bad days better.
In the same way a kid can drag their parents to the candy store to make up for a devastating loss in a game, we can pick ourselves up by recognizing our guilty pleasures and indulging not only when it’s needed, but when it’s wanted.
Working in a candy store, seeing Harriet the not-so-little kid coming in every day, gave me greater hope for my looming adulthood. It’s not an impending doom the way people make it out to be, telling me to cherish my youth and not wish it all away. But I know better than they do that it’s entirely in my control.
The best days of my life have only just begun.
