22 years is a long time but the boys finally did it. Congratulations to us Gooners as well as the Gunners. Let’s keep it going on May 30th & get that double #Arsenal
Anonymous
I witnessed something at a grocery store. Young man. Special needs. Bagging groceries. Proud of his job. Careful with every item. Older customer. Impatient. Rude. “Can you go any slower? I don’t have all day.”
Young man’s face. Crushed. Trying not to cry. Kept working. Slower now. Hands shaking. Manager noticed. Came over. “Sir your groceries are free today.” Customer looked shocked. “Why?” “Because you just taught my employee that some customers don’t deserve his excellent service.
I won’t charge you. But I will ask you to leave.”
Customer left. Angry. Embarrassed. Good. Young man looked at his manager. “You didn’t have to do that.” “Yes I did. Nobody talks to you like that. Not in my store. Not anywhere.”
Other customers started clapping. Small applause. Support. Recognition. Young man smiled. Started bagging again. Confident. Protected. Valued.
Manager told me afterward. “He’s the best employee I have. Never late. Never complains. Treats every customer like they matter.
He deserves the same respect.”
Started shopping there exclusively after that. Watching that young man work. Always patient. Always kind. Always careful. Learned his name. We talk now. He remembers what I buy. Asks about my family. Makes every visit personal.
Saw him training a new employee last month. Teaching her how to bag. How to treat customers. Passing on what he learned. Kindness. Care. Excellence. “Everyone deserves respect. Customers and workers. That’s what my manager taught me.”.
Sometimes the best managers don’t just run stores. They build dignity.
@ChrisBottaNHL Can the Islanders F group handle all the injuries internally, or do they need to look outside the organization. Especially if Drouin is not day to day.
"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.
Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.
One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.
Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.
Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"
"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."
He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."
The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."
Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.
But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,
"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."
So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.
Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."
Let this story reach more hearts....
Credit: Mary Nelson
@RichCimini Do we have any idea why Lazard didn’t make the trip overseas? And how would this offense operate without Wilson for numerous weeks. Did they feed Breece the ball 40 times a game