Dennis Carlucci was standing in the check-out line in the super-market, where behind him an old man stood with a jar of mustard in his hand.  The old man’s head was small and pea shaped and his hair showed all gray, what little he did have left.  The poor old man to Dennis looked as though he hadn’t a friend in the world and not much time left in it.  So with worth-while intentions he let the old man pass in front of him, because Dennis had over half his shopping cart full of items. 

     The man gave a courteous bow and walked in front of Dennis then placed his small jar of mustard down on the conveyor-belt.  The cashier smiled at Dennis while he contagiously smiled back at her as she passed the small jar of mustard over the bar-code reader.  A cute “blip” sound filled the air, and then a shuffling sound as the register submitted a receipt.  She smiled at the old man who walked without a cane but looked pretty close next to needing one.  She said, “sixty-nine cents, please.”

     The old man’s left hand slowly slid down to reach for his wallet which was lodged in his semi-tight gray wool dress pants.  His fingers fumbled around for a long few moments, while the tail of his white dress shirt hung out the back of his pants, interfering with his frail reach. 

     Dennis kindly spoke, “Here, let me help you.”  He pulled the old man’s shirt out of the way as the old man snapped a bit, and his eyes turned bothered.  Dennis pulled his hand away while a partially-embarrassed grin arose on his face.

     The old man’s once happy face had suddenly angered, although all the time he hadn’t said a word.  He pulled the wallet out of his pocket, yet his weak grip dropped it to the floor.

     Dennis was going to pick up the wallet for the man, but thought twice not to, not knowing what words would surface from his mouth.  Dennis thought he might say something of the nature like:  I can get it!  What do you think, I can’t bend?   Or:  I can get my own wallet thank you!  Do I look crippled to you?  So that is why he didn’t assist him in his plight of bending.

     Actually, the old man thought Dennis would be kind enough to pick it up for him, seeing that he is an old man who could hardly walk, never mind bend.  He couldn’t understand why such a healthy young man would not assist him in a time of need.  He thought:  What’s this world coming to, I tell you.  Young men these days don’t hold doors for old ladies no more.  They don’t walk em ‘cross the street neither.  They don’t even help out poor old men like me, when I got to bend all the way to that darn floor there and pick up my bill-fold!   He slowly leaned to the floor, with jerky shakes emitting from every bone in his body, while Dennis and the cashier shared smiles of patience.  The person behind Dennis smiled too, holding a loaf of bread by the tie, while he gently tapped it against his knee.

     The old man had finally reached his wallet after bending for a time of three hours, or so it felt to Dennis and the others.  As the old man had his wallet in his hand, he tried propping himself back up, as his back got stuck.  Dennis without hesitation leaned over the man, grabbed him by the shoulders, and tried straightening him out.  The old man felt the hands of Dennis tug on his shoulders and wanted to whack him for the blame of he being in this predicament to begin with, not having picked the bill-fold up for him.  Dennis again snapped the old man’s back, but this time into place.  He whacked Dennis with his right hand on the upper part of his chest, as he grumbled a bit.  Dennis did not take offense to the strike, seeing that he was such an old, helpless man.

     The man standing behind Dennis smiled in amusement, and at the same time, Dennis sensed he was about to laugh.  Suddenly another woman appeared behind him, with a shopping cart full of items. 

     The cashier thought the whole scene was funny as you could see her dimples bloom, and you could hear soft whispers of laughter surface from her mouth.

     The old man reached into his wallet, just having remembered forgetting to have drawn money from the bank before he came to the market.  He reached for his credit-card and handed it to the cashier.  She slid the credit-card through the machine which took time to obtain a response, due to the slow processing of the market’s computer-system.  She waited a strong minute or more, before the words “PLEASE CONTACT BANK,” entered in the register’s LED monitor.  She told the man that she was sorry and politely handed back the man his card.  His fingers fiddled a bit, trying to nudge it back into one of the wallet’s card slots, but found it increasingly difficult as his fingers ached from arthritis.  After a good minute or more he finally slid the card into the wallet.

     He next reached down into his pocket and jingled around some pocket change.  He was confident that he had enough to cover the expense. 

     He pulled out a mélange of change, a few nickels mixed with dimes but what mostly shined was pennies, some brighter than others.  A nickel slipped from his fingers as he quickly reached for it, having forgotten he had a whole fist-full of change in the palm of his hand.  The change fell like rain to the floor, which made a sheeting-jingle noise, as the old man this time without hesitation started bending toward the floor as if everyone around him would steal it from him.

     The change had spread out quite a distance, so as any kind young man would do, Dennis reached for his wallet, pulled out a one, and handed it to the cashier, while speaking, “Here.  I’ll take care of that.”

     While bending half-way down, the old man stopped and spoke the first words anyone had heard out of him this afternoon.  With a raspy-strident voice he said, “Like hell you will!”  The old man was insulted and told the cashier to hand the dollar back to him.

     She politely handed the dollar bill back to Dennis.  Dennis was a bit perturbed but took it all in stride.  He put the dollar back in his wallet as the line behind him grew bigger as each minute etched on.  He thought to step out of line and go to another register, but as he looked all around in each line they were as large and growing too.  Plus, it would be too discourteous not to help the man pick up the change.  Dennis bent down and started fingering up the change from the floor.  So did the rest of the people in line, as far back as the change did land.

     In time everyone handed the change back to the old man as the last penny was placed in his hand.  A smile grew upon the old man’s face, and instantly it dropped like an elevator having detached from its cables.  He threw the change back to the floor and said, “I can get it!  You young folks are all alike!”  He cleared his throat for a moment and then patted his chest.  “You think we old folks are helpless, and can’t do things for ourselves.  Why, I’ve never been so insulted in all my life!”

     A wave of fright and partial-madness showed in the eyes of all, as they all backed up so the old man could pick his own change up from the floor.

     Five minutes had passed as he finally plucked the last penny from the floor.  He was in a kneeling position with a hand-full of change, with the slight problem of getting back up.  He knelt there for forty seconds or more and finally said:  “Well, isn’t anyone going to help me up?”

     Dennis thought to be smart and say:  I thought you didn’t need any help?  But that would only upset the man more and delay the line from moving.  Dennis’s frozen goods started to sweat as the charade lingered on. 

     Some people in the line had moved to others, while just as fast as they did others took place behind Dennis who decided to stay seeing that this dilemma was almost over.

     The old man started counting his change.  The cashier asked if he needed assistance doing so, while he replied with old-fashioned gibe, “What do you think, I can’t count?”  He was insulted by her comment, judging him as if he were a nursing home potentialist, soon to be hand-fed a puree` diet from a spoon.

     His face snarled as his hands started to shake from her insult.  He started counting again from the first penny.  The cashier’s question made him forget how much change he had counted.  She thought earlier that the whole predicament was funny but started to become a little impatient herself as a tall-sigh grew upon her face.

     He slowly counted three nickels, two dimes and the rest in pennies, one accursed cent at a time.  And as he handled each penny, he slowly turned them over to check if they were wheat-backs, to add to his basket-full of others placed in empty coffee cans in his bedroom closet.  It was a hobby of his to collect them. 

     He counted sixty-seven cents, two pennies short of paying for his mustard.  Everyone in line was thinking to offer him the two cents, but not after what had happened.  Dennis, from the corner of his eye noticed a penny stuck between the candy-rack and the register behind-him, so he brought it to the old man’s attention. 

     The old man turned around with a quasi-look of gratefulness as he bent once again, slowly toward the floor, within close reach of the penny.  He carefully pinched the penny between his fingers and placed it in the palm of his hand.  He slowly rose, as he held onto the candy rack, guiding himself upward.  Everyone watched with pitiful-anger as he cleared his throat while a mild grumble filled the air.  The old man then looked around to anywhere there might be a penny lying on the floor while one of the men from the back of the line held out a penny and said rather irate, “Here!  Just take the damn penny!”

     The old man stared angered into the man’s eyes.  There was a sudden silence about as the old man looked ready to slap someone again.  He said. “No doin!  Son, when I was your age I worked like a slave to make ends meet.  You think you got it hard these days?  Boy, let me tell you, we didn’t have micro-waves, refrigerators, or even television!  The biggest thing I seen in my growin’ up was the model-T.  You got to see rockets go to the moon and computers take over the world in your up-bringin’.”  The old man’s voice grew raspy and louder.  “You got a lot of nerve offerin’ me money!  No one’s ever gave me anything for nothin’!  And I aint about to take it from you, or no one here!”  The old man emitted the presence of a new-born chick, but the stubbornness of a mule.  The manager interrupted him in the middle of his speech.  He said with authority more than question, “Excuse me.  What’s the problem here?”

     The old man turned his head toward the manager and uttered these words, “The problem is this man behind me here doesn’t understand the value of a dollar!  And if I could I’d bend him over my knees and give him a good whackin’ I would!”  The old man lectured on while the manger noticed the other lines filling up due to the hold up here in line #7.  So without hesitation he picked up the cashier’s phone and paged two more cashiers to registers #8 and #5.  While this was taking place, Dennis pulled a penny from his pocket then furtively let it slip to the floor off his shoe and kicked it next to the old man’s foot.  Dennis said rather sharp, “Hey look!  There’s another penny!”

     The old man turned his head a few times, searching below.  He saw the penny glimmer on the floor but couldn’t remember seeing it there before, and couldn’t prove it was not there either.  Once again he bent toward the floor, to reach for the final penny of the sale.

     The manager made sure everything was all right before he went back up stairs to go to the restroom to relieve himself, which he had been meaning to do before he saw the commotion take place...

     The cashier took the penny, plopped it in the register draw, reached under for a small paper bag to place the jar of mustard in.  Just then, the old man read the label closely, viewing the words:  “Mildly Spicy.”  He asked if the cashier would be so kind to have one of the baggers get him a jar of regular, which stalled the line furthermore as he continued telling tales of poverty.  When the bagger returned he said that they were all out of regular, and thought to say he can get more from the back but using good common sense he opted it was best to say nothing to keep the line moving.  In result of this the old man called off the sale, a bit embarrassed but nevertheless proud to say no one has ever given him anything and rambled on about hardships that happened to him as a child.  By now everyone in line starting feeling sorry for the old man and a few older women in the back of the line started to cry.  When they did, the old man said, “That’s right.  Sometimes me and my mother, father and brothers used to all share a can of baked beans for dinna’.  Yea, it was hard during the depression I tell ya.”  Dennis wanted to interrupt his speech, but seeing how the whole crowd was entranced by the man’s stories of calamity, he kept quiet to hear him out.  It grew tiresome as he dragged on about the tough life he’s had, and the petty jobs he had to take on in the past to survive.  The ladies crying in the back of the line cried louder and began pulling out tissues from their purses.  Dennis sighed and snapped the female cashier out of her tearful trance by snapping his fingers and said, “Could you please give him his money back so I can get going!”  She seemed rather upset that Dennis hadn’t the manner to let the poor old man finish his story.  Others too, for a moment gnarled at Dennis while he stood there watching the frozen goods he was about to buy start to drip.  He sighed impatiently, all the while wishing he could strangle the old man who has kept the line held up for the last thirty-five minutes and counting.