Black people don’t do therapy, we smile.

Coping with depression in a world where it seems no one cares

Last week I was waiting in line at Costco, ready to check out with a bulk supply of water, paper towels, and those tasty keto coconut clusters that I shamefully devoir in one sitting — -real first world shit. The cashier and her assistant were cheerful and friendly, smiling with their eyes as we can no longer see creases around the lips thanks to COVID and mandatory mask requirements.

The cashier asked the gentlemen who was checking out ahead of me if he found everything he was looking for. The guy paused for a brief moment and said, “Well actually, no I didn’t.” He went on for about two minutes talking about some drink they used to sell at that particular Costco location and how he has been searching for it and was upset he could no longer find it — -again more first world shit. I admit it was a longwinded story considering I was holding in my hands a case of water, paper towels, and tasty keto coconut clusters. The guy finally finished his story, paid for his items, and walked away.

The cashier turns to her assistant and says, “Well, that is the last time I will ask a customer if they found everything they were looking for. I wasn’t expecting to be dumped on…” And they laugh it off.