Grandmother, as always, entered the store exactly at seven in the morning. It was the time when the 24-hour store wasn’t yet crowded: only the night staff and a few insomniacs wandered inside.
She always appeared on schedule — Tuesdays and Fridays. Everyone knew her visit would be as discreet and silent as the morning fog covering the city.
“There goes our grandmother again,” yawned the cashier, who seemed never to smile.
“So what?” asked the new stock clerk.
“Nothing special,” she answered dryly. “She stands there looking at labels for half an hour, then leaves with half a baguette. Some tea, if she can still afford it; there are plenty like her.”
Grandmother moved slowly down the aisles, her arthritic fingers counting the coins in her old purse.
At the milk section, she stopped, stared at the bottles for a long time but didn’t take any.
“Are you looking for something?” asked the clerk.
“I’m… I’m just looking, son,” she stammered, clutching her purse. “Prices are so high… It’s been so long since I bought milk. I thought maybe…” She didn’t finish and headed toward the bread aisle.
At the checkout, her hand tightly holding her half-baguette, grandmother carefully counted each coin again.
“My dear,” she finally dared to say to the cashier, “could you buy me some milk? I don’t have a penny left… My pension has been delayed, they promised me a transfer on Monday. I promise I’ll pay you back.”
But the cashier didn’t even look up, took the bread, and dismissed her coldly:
“We’re not a charity. We hear these stories every day: delayed pensions, lost cards… Get out.”
Grandmother’s shoulders sagged, her eyes lowered, she took her bread and headed for the exit.
When she nearly reached the door, a young woman stepped in front of the cashier. She put money on the counter and said calmly:
“I’m paying for the milk. And please add fruits and vegetables for grandmother.”
The cashier sneered without even looking:
“It’s your money, do what you want, but no scenes.”
The young woman, staring straight at her, replied:
“You’ll be the one causing scenes.”
She turned to grandmother:
“Please wait here. I’ll take care of everything.”
She pulled out her phone and took several photos of the cashier, the counter, and the elderly customer.
“Hey, what are you doing?” shouted the cashier. “Take that camera away!”
The young woman responded firmly:
“Do you know who I am? I’m a blogger, telling stories about people, indifference, and injustice. I have more followers than you have customers. I’m going to post what you just did.”
The cashier turned pale, gave a mocking laugh, and said:
“You think anyone will listen to you?”
“The store manager is my uncle,” the young woman answered. “He told me the staff needed ‘refreshing.’ And I think we’re starting with you.”
Then she filled a basket with milk, cheese, apples, mandarins, cereals, and meat, and handed it to grandmother:
“Come, I’ll walk you out. Don’t worry anymore, from now on you will have everything you need.”
Grandmother nodded, eyes misted with tears:
“Thank you, dear,” she whispered.
