Not long ago, Lori, Ruth and I were discussing how people in our various parts of the country treat wait staff, store clerks and other people in the service sector.

I grew up thinking that everyone was polite and chatty when dealing with these kinds of people.  After all, Bumpa, my maternal grandfather, was an extremely extroverted salesman.  He talked to everybody including the man filling his gas tank, the woman who rang up our sale at the Italian bakery, and more.

Then in college, my husband and I went out for dinner with friends.  I’m honestly not certain how some of these people thought there food arrived at the table because they were cold, verging on rude.  How painful is it to thank someone who has just settled a meal before you?  “Give me. . . I want . . . Why don’t I have . . . ”  There were points in the meal when I suspected we were dining with royalty or at the various least royal pains.

I know not everyone in my area acknowledges the people who are clerks and wait staff, but my son definitely does.  He remembers even at those times that I forget, when I’m looking for my car keys or juggling too many bags.

But an older friend of mine pointed out something I hadn’t noticed.  People wish each other a Blessed Day.  Or “thank you and God Bless You.”  That isn’t something you used to hear in the St. Louis suburbs. I still haven’t heard anyone say this, but I’m listening for it.

And every now and again, I say it.

May God Bless you all on this beautiful day.