Dave comes into the library from time to time.
We talk.
His wife recently died, last year or two, maybe more recently - I haven't pinned Dave down. Don't want to. But I do know her death was before her time. Dave is around my age, but I suspect a little bit younger.
He talks about her a lot. He lights up when he talks about her.
"She was my best friend. She was so much fun. She was so smart. I miss her every day."
These words are genuine - I feel the love emanating from him, I see it in his eyes, I sense it in the passion of his words. He misses her profoundly. He tells me so, but if he didn't, I would still know because of the raw emotion he projects.
And he is not self-conscious about it. He puts it out there proudly, and with an obviously broken heart.
Last week he checked with me about a book he had ordered that had not come in yet. I confirmed that it was in the pipeline and he left. Told him I would call when it came in.
He came back inside a minute later to tell me that his wife's voice was still the message on his voicemail. Said he did not want me to think I had the wrong number when I called.
I think it was one more way for him to express the love he had and still has for her. One more way to say "I loved my wife so deeply."
Turns out the book came in that afternoon. I called, and got the machine. I listened to his wife's voice. I was truly moved, and sincerely emotional.
He showed up half an hour later to pick up the book. Told me he was outside, reading in his garden, which is why he missed the call. Picked up his book, talked about it enthusiastically, wished me a good day, and left.
I pictured him reading this book he was so excited about, in his garden.
Alone.
This is the upside to customer service. Genuine human connection. Raw emotion expressed honestly. The privilege of being invited into someone else's life.
It is humbling to connect with someone in that way. It is rare.
It is a gift.
