Elves and Ogres

It's poorly written, but this is something from the heart. I had a chance meeting with a customer at my job, and I think it was for the better. You can find kindness in the strangest of places.

Even a Home Depot.

It was nothing special, really. Just another customer looking for a quote. He had rental properties and wanted new carpet. I just so happened to be smart enough to hit the right keys on the computer. He smiled, I smiled, and we proceeded to dance through social niceties.

So when did the conversation turn to dreams? The customer's was construction and real estate, anything to do with creating or selling homes. I listened, fascinated. It's hard not to be taken by another's passion, especially when it's their profession. I asked questions, he answered, and each response provoked a little more excitement.

Then he asked me if I had a dream.

I went silent. Nobody had ever asked me that. Too often, nobody cared. And what if they did? "I want to be a writer," I might say, shyly knowing how impossible that hurdle might be. "Oh," they might reply, "And what sort of book is it?" I'd then stutter and mumble through the ideas, of elves and ogres, fedoras and firearms. It was enough in rural Mississippi to get you stared at.

I quickly learned to stay quiet.

Yet he asked, and I told him, first with halting words, and then increasingly energetic explanations. He listened, and laughed, and asked questions. I explained, and our enthusiasm grew. He admitted he might not be a writer, but he cheered me on, mentioning incorporation, tax write-offs, and cracking the formula of a great story. We parted shaking hands and smiling.

It was nothing special, really, but it meant the world to me.