“Rich,” who works at a big-box hardware store, excels at customer service.  You will be sure to recognize this right away because his vest is covered in countless award badges, all thanks to the fact that customers relate and respond to his brand of affability. The multiple badges, affixed by carabiners to both sides of his vest, noticeably rattle against one another, calling to mind the old-fashioned take-a-numbers at the butcher counters of old.

He wears a big smile below a bushy mustache, is average height, and, he’s not shy about cheerfully calling attention to a pot belly, one he points out to you himself. 

Then, out tumbles his spiel, full of PG-rated dad jokes and deadpanned as if he were a Wes Andersen character.

“How ya folks doin’ today?” he asks, grinning. As soon as you mumble something about being pooped from weekend yard work, gesturing to the additional flat of pansies you’re buying, he starts up.

“Oh, pooped out?” Rich gestures towards his (pleasingly plump) abdomen. “Me too. But hey, turns out I’m in shape. Round is a shape.”

You laugh despite yourself.

“I’ve started an exercise regime,” he continues. “Doin’ fork lifts.” Naturally, he gestures, pretending to lift a fork to his mouth. “And diddly squats.”

You laugh again. Rich is just warming up.

“It’s not that running runs in my family,” he says, then pauses. “Nobody runs in my family.” 

His eyes are wide. He’s watching your face, gauging his timing; an underappreciated stand-up comedian who literally must be on his feet on a concrete floor wearing steel-toed safety shoes for hours on end. One who has filled the yawning, monotonous hours with possibilities while manning a register. Someone who realizes he’s been invisible. An anonymous figure who scans products and accepts payments hour after hour, who must keep an eye out for shoplifters and miscreants the livelong day. 

Now, he’s a guy who’s quipping away, perfecting his schtick and inserting himself firmly into your field of vision.

Rich, dammit, is determined to make you see him and make you laugh.

Meanwhile, the register is doing its machine tasks, calculating, whirring and spitting out receipts. Waiting, you politely smile at Rich, because, well, not to would be like slapping a baby.

Handing the receipts over he resumes his riff adding, “We don’t run like the wind . . . When I run, I’m winded.”

As you turn to leave, he takes care of business, asking you to complete the survey at the bottom of the receipt. 

“That’s how I got all these badges,” he says proudly. And you guesstimate he might be wearing 50 of the things.

Is it heavy, you wonder, wearing all those badges?

Walking to the car, it’s tempting to look back, to see if Rich is already doing his routine with the next customer. How long can he sustain this, you also wonder?

Then it hits you, the most obvious thing. On reflection, you realize Rich, in fact, has a knack for getting others in shape as a crescent-shaped smile plants itself on your face, a gift from the man of many badges.  OH