She was speeding around from table-to-table like a bee to flowers, all 4 feet of her, her gray hair in a buzz cut.
I’ll call her Lucy.
It was a warm summer afternoon in 2021 and the pandemic era shut down was slowly beginning to ease. We still wore masks and held our distance from one another but the goods and services industry was slowly coming back to life so we could resume the business of urban living. Good thing too, because my cell phone was on the fritz (its own form of quarantine!) and all the telephonic tech help thus far had been for naught. As advised, I got an appointment at a physical store and there I was, right on time, mask on nose and mouth, dead cell phone in hand.
We were made to stand in line outside the store until our turn. The humidity made the hot sun ever more potent but none of us complained. In the middle of a heart-to-heart with the stranger behind me, about how happy we were to finally be in a modicum of normalcy, it was my turn to enter the store. Bidding farewell to my queue-mate I entered the store realizing its massive size for the first time despite having been there before. The difference of course was the number of people allowed inside before and after the pandemic. This time the store protocol was entirely different as well. There were large workstation type tables numbered 1 through 12, each with four dedicated barstools. Upon entering, we waited on a yellow line just inside the door until the greeter handed us a numbered tag which was our cue to take the corresponding workstation and wait for the tech helper.
As I waited on the yellow line for my tag, I saw this little figure in a white shirt, black leggings and laced-up running shoes, weaving through the furniture, the staff, and the customers. She moved so fast that at first, I thought a child was running around expelling pent-up quarantine energy, but I quickly realized that this was an African American lady in her late-sixties or early-seventies with a large cloth and some sponges in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. It soon became clear that she was making sure the workstations and barstools were sanitized for the next set of customers once the previous set left.
That was it. 12 tables. 48 stools. That was her job.
As I walked to table number 8 per the tag I was assigned, I simply could not peel my eyes away from her. I reached my own freshly sanitized workstation and sat on the barstool, my mouth agape at this spitfire who left nary an inch un-sanitized and never missed a table. The whole time I was waiting for my tech helper to arrive this little lady was on the move – face lowered, eyes on the prize. The only time she raised her head was when she was scoping the next station that needed her attention.
The tech helper came and asked me how she could help to which I replied pointing, “who is that?”
“Who Lucy?” came the answer “she is part of our sanitization team; her job is to make sure all surfaces are kept sanitized at all times”.
“I love her!” I blurted, a little taken aback at my own overt fandom.
“We all do!” laughed the helper.
I confess I was a little irritated by the retort. Here I was, mesmerized by this illuminated being, and all the helper could come up with was a quippy platitude?! Tersely, I went on to explain the problem with my phone and handed it to her knowing she would take it to the workshop in the back to get fixed (I knew this thanks to the tech guy on the phone the previous day). As she proceeded to the back of the store, I resumed my newfound interest – following a Master at her craft. The dignity, the ownership, the focus, and the confidence with which Lucy did her job was a sight to behold. There was no question I was in the presence of greatness. In a few minutes, she was at table 7 – the table next to mine – and I felt like a giddy little teenager who was about to meet her idol. Keeping my outward demeanor in-step with my adulthood I, very matter-of-factly, introduced myself and struck up a conversation with her.
“How long have you done this?” I asked.
“A month” she said, continuing to clean workstation 7 without looking up.
“You look like you love what you do” I said knowingly, exposing all 32 of my pearly whites for her. She did not look up.
“Yes it is nice to be working again” she said still concentrating on her task, not having raised her head once to look at me (or anything else). Her sights were locked on workstation 7 the whole time.
“You know Lucy…” she looked up sharply.
” …Uh, I got your name from the lady who was helping me with my phone” I offered, quickly absolving myself of any wrongdoing. Down went her head again back to the task at hand.
“You know Lucy” I continued, “I had heard there are no small jobs only small people, and you my friend, are a giant. It is a pleasure to watch you work.” She raised her head but not to look at me. Instead, she started her eagle-eyed room scanning again. Clearly, my compliment meant little to her in light of her duty.
“Thank you” she nodded, still scoping the joint.
She was getting ready to dart off again when I asked her if she would allow me to buy her a cup of coffee and held out a twenty-dollar bill. This was the first and only time I saw her smile.
“Thank you but our policy does not permit tips” she said without a hint of disappointment, frustration or umbrage at the protocol. And with those words, off she went on her next mission.
I continued to watch her as she resumed snaking through the store cleaning as she went. In what felt like only a few minutes the tech helper returned with my repaired phone peeling my attention away from Lucy. The helper prattled on about what had been wrong with my phone and what they did to fix it while handing me the repair bill, which I paid using her hi-tech portable gadget. I assume this interaction took some time because as I was being ushered out of the store, I rubber-necked looking for Lucy but did not see her anywhere. I had so wanted to buy her that cup of coffee, I was about to ask her manager to override the encumbering store policy once I was done with the phone repair formalities.
“I don’t see Lucy anymore” I said, making certain not to betray my disappointment to the helper.
“Oh, her shift is done” the helper replied glancing at her watch, “she’s gone for the day.”
Although I felt a twinge of loss at the missed the opportunity to buy that little rock star a cup of coffee, I also felt edified at the same time. As if I was somehow a better version of myself now than when I first entered the store that afternoon, and as I walked to my car, I heard myself say “Lucy, thank you. It was my pleasure to have been in your presence for a spell”.
It is safe to say that when it comes to this great soul who personified that dignity resides in the worker not the work, I shall remain forever spellbound.