Our Angel of Macy

     There are times in your life that you meet just the right person at just the right time.  This was just the right time to meet Ada. 

     I was actually feeling rather dismayed at what life had dealt me.  I had ruptured a disc in my spine, and was living in fear of triggering a recurrence of some rather vividly memorable pain.   Words, such as “possible permanent nerve damage” , pronounced by men in white coats, were still ringing in my ears.  

     You could imagine how someone might rupture a disc.  Yes, lifting a glass coffee table top would be a plausible explanation.  But the other occurrence is harder to explain.

     The day before, I ran over my own laptop computer.  Yes, demolished it under the wheels of the car. That’s a little harder to fathom.  So I will tell you how to do it.  First, you fill your mind with the presentation you will be giving to a hundred people in the next hour.  Next, you set down your nice, new, soft-sided briefcase which holds your nice, new Macbook Pro, by the side of the car as you make an urgent phone call.  Then, you just get in the car and pull out of the parking lot. 

     So, having completed those deft maneuvers, I heard a strange crunching sound under the tires.  Still completely clueless, I glanced in my rearview mirror and spotted my tattered briefcase on the pavement.  A strange premonition came over me as I approached the scene of the accident.   My turkey sandwich looked like road kill, my watch was shattered,  and my 4-month-old laptop had a screen that looked like it would bring many more than seven  years of bad luck.   Miraculously, my powerpoint, was still intact.  The show must go on!  And then I laughed, somewhat hysterically:   The ice-breaker which had eluded me until this moment,  just occurred to me., my own version of “A funny thing happened on my way to the auditorium . . .”.  The presentation would now be seen as minor miracle, my audience engaged in the pathos of the event.   Heck of an expensive way to create an authentic anecdote. 

     So, yesterday, still reeling from recent events, I entered Macy’s.  Relieved to have come through yesterday with my professional reputation intact, but chagrined at my personal ineptitude and my physical limitations, I was resolutely seeking reparations.  This was not the kind of indulgent shopping that evokes a serotonin rush, like multiple hits of dark chocolate.  This shopping was more like several swigs of Slimfast, a defiant act of trying to restore, at significant sacrifice, what you know you once had.

      And so I met Ada.  First, actually, I smelled Ada.  She exuded the fresh essence of soap as I followed her down the aisle of Macy’s.  Then, I saw Ada.  A large black woman, she was dressed in a black paisley blouse and a wide black skirt, her kinky, slightly grayed hair neatly clipped in a bun.  She lumbered in black shoes as sturdy as bricks.  Just a little later, I got to know Ada.

     For reasons of scanty service in Macy’s, I returned several times to Ada.   Ada did indeed seem to be the only living soul capable of taking my money in return for merchandise.  But there was something else about Ada.:  I liked coming back to Ada.  There was just something about her.  I sensed it. Each of her ministrations behind the watch counter were done with just a little extra care.  When I was looking down at the display, she was concerned I had a stomachache, ‘cause Ada knew that’s what she does when her stomach hurts.  When I remarked on the extra care she was giving, she drew herself tall and explained, “That’s just how I treat all my customers.”  Then she added, “I’m just so thankful to come to work every day.” 

     The last straw—or the best part—occurred on my last return to Ada, after discovering that I had missed my appointment at the Apple store because the watch I had just purchased, as aesthetically acceptable as it was, did not tell time.  It seemed that the battery was dead on arrival on my wrist, and it appeared that there was no other watch in my measly price range that didn’t dangle on my child-sized wrist.  Nevertheless, I just had faith that Ada was going to make it all right.  And Ada assured me she had that faith, too.   During the wait for the line management process to affect the appropriate reparations, Ada and I had a heart-to-heart.   Heaven knows why, yes It does!  I poured out recent traumas, and she told me of hers.  Ada has “arther-itis”  in her spine.  She’s had it since a child.  Her left leg is semi-paralyzed; she has to lift it with her hands if she wants to raise her leg.  Edema has swelled her calves and arms.  She is diabetic.  She was off work for a year having not one but two knee replacements.  She sometimes loses control of her limbs and falls down the stairs.  She was off work for a year having not one but two knee replacements.  But it was the happiest day of her life when the doctor said she could go back to work.  She loves her station;  she greets co-workers and customers with hellos, and smiles, and encouraging words from behind her glass enclosure.  People go out of their way to come in through “her door”.  This woman--as infirm as she is--this woman, she glows.

     I asked her, “Ada, what is your source?”  She knew exactly what I meant and she had a ready answer.  “Jesus!” she declared.  “He gives us life each and every day.” 

     And, though I am not of a church-going nature, I said a silent amen.   Aloud, I said, “Ada, He does something for you.   He surely does.”  She replied , “Honey, He does something for all of us, He surely does.”

     And so it is.  On the very same day, two things occurred.  First, an angel alighted on the shoulder of the Apple Store manager and whispered into his ear something about mercy for loyal customers who have certain lapses of mental functioning which require them to purchase two identical IPhones and two identical computers in a span of four months.  I was granted complete repairs on my laptop at no cost.  Halleluia!  Later that day, the same angel’s wings cast a benign shadow across my MRI report and brought to the neurosurgeon’s lips the pronouncement, “Thou hast no need of the surgeon’s knife, nor the nurse’s needle.” 

    And so, at the end of the day, I folded my hands and offered a prayer thanks for Ada and told the angel where to find Ada, behind the watch counter near the north door of Macys.