Diem

At the Target checkout line, I did what I always do: scanned for the shortest wait. I avoided the self-checkout—past experience has taught me that what looks faster usually ends with me fumbling through errors.

There it was—an open register with just one customer. I placed my shopping bag on the counter, carrying only two items: a mineral supplement and a five-pound bag of King Arthur Golden Wheat Flour. My wife Adele enjoys baking, and she insists on the healthy kind.

The cashier was young, petite, with dark hair, and wore a name tag that read “Diem.” I asked her what it meant.

“I’m from Vietnam,” she said. “And I’m not telling what my name means.”

I apologized for prying and started unloading my groceries. A moment later, she looked up.

“Beautiful,” she said quietly. “Diem means pretty or graceful or beautiful.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I replied.

“But I’m not beautiful,” she added. “I’m plain. But that’s what my parents chose.”

I told her about my eldest daughter, whose Yiddish name, Shaindel, also means “beautiful.” And I recalled a story from my photography days.

Two photographers once debated whether every woman could be photographed as a beauty. To settle it, one of them went to a company typing pool—back when offices had rows of women at Remington Rand typewriters—and randomly selected four secretaries. With new clothes, fresh hairstyles, and professional makeup, each one posed like a model. The bet was won: beauty, at least in the eye of the lens, could be revealed.

I turned back to Diem. “You can be as beautiful as you want to be.”

She smiled, handed me my receipt, and said, “You made my day.”

I walked out feeling lighter, grateful that a short errand had become a reminder: sometimes, a simple exchange can brighten someone else’s world.

“Good bye Diem.”

~ Al Zagofsky