The Summit

This morning was a morning of snow.  In fact, as I write these words from the afternoon of the same day, the snow has persisted, either floating down from the heavens or being stirred up from the roofs of neighboring homes.  What else can be said?  Such are the days of winter.

I raise this point of weather to illustrate how easily one can be dissuaded from plans set the night previous.  My plan for this morning were an early morning rise and an attendance at the 8:00am service at the church known as Abundant Life.  The snow dissuaded me, though it never should have, returning me to my slumber until the eight o'clock struck.  I still could have attended Abundant Life, as they did offer a 9:30 service as well; but I opted for the easier way out, a church closer, a service nearer to the time I left my home.   The Summit lay just over a mile from my house; and that is where I decided to visit for this Sunday in December.

The first thought to strike me, as I parked my car in the parking lot and began stepping through the snow on my way towards the front door, was memory for a music video which has motivated and inspired me over the past week or so.  A group known as Casting Crowns released this video for their song "Nobody", and it begins with a young man on a skateboard approaching a door to a building with music emanating out.  Curious, he steps in to discover Casting Crowns performing their song.  How compelling it wold have been - for I was tardy in my reaching this church on time - to discover the same here - if the music of the service would have been permeating the walls to pull me within.  Once, when at DisneyWorld in Florida, I was told shops would air the aroma of their product into the outside where the visitors to the park would be passing by.  This made ideal sense, as my years of frequenting movie theaters can attest.  The decision for a box of popcorn often never was made until stepping into the theater and absorbing the aroma which always pushed me to say yes.

So I step through the door to the Summit, and there was the music I could hear.  It was good music, displayed on at least two monitors for what was taking place within.  I was greeted warmly, by two young men casually dressed.  They directed me to the doors that would enter the auditorium, and also shared the option for drinks and snacks I could take with me inside.  I opted for a cup of coffee before doing so, pleased at the charming invite.

Inside, though, my eyesight almost went out.  All that was visible was the stage along, where the musicians were finishing up the last of that morning songs.  The music was beautiful; and as opposed to my previous week's offering, it was not overtly loud, which may be attributed to an auditorium more conducive in size.  I would guess the room accommodated twice the number from last week, if not two and half times in size, as four to five hundred souls could probably have comfortably sat within its space.

As with the previous week, I found myself struck by the dark interior before me.  Everything was bathed in black, with light solely upon the stage and musicians.  Again, I ask why.  Why darken things so?  It still makes no sense to one, such as myself, who sees Christ as the light of the world.  Should not though who adopt His name exemplify this?  Perhaps I quibble over trifling things.

After one of the pastors steps out to offer a prayer, the musicians return, assembling in the middle of the stage, for one last song before the sermon begins.  It was a Christmas song, and they were all adorned in some manner of Christmas paraphernalia, which was fine.  The song was well performed. There was nothing adverse about it whatsoever.  Yet, I still find myself wondering if it was out of place.  In an assembly of believers who follow Jesus Christ as the only begotten Son of God and Saviour of the world, does a song which makes no attempt to acknowledge have a place?  Maybe; but I wonder.

The senior pastor then makes his appearance on stage.  A very affable gentleman, probably in his mid-50s, then proceeds to deliver a sermon on peace.  He was most enjoyable to listen to; and he weaved teaching from the Gospels into his lesson; yet again, I found myself wondering: am I listening to a sermon by a preacher of the Good News of Jesus?  Or am I listening to a good motivational speaker, using the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth into his instructions for the people?  Is that a pastor of a church?  Is a pastor just a motivational speaker?  I cannot say.

This is a church I would return and visit again, though I find myself left with more questions than answers.  If church is meant as an assembly of believers, who gather together in the name of Jesus, to worship God, to grow closer to Jesus, to leave behind the old ways of sin and to embrace the walk of righteousness along Christ's side, I'm not certain this church leads the way.  I'm not clear on how much more like Christ one can become by attending there.  There is certain teaching which would be beneficial to anyone; but to escape this world and abide in the heavens above, I'm not sure what I saw today is any different than anything else I've seen over my Christian walk of years.

transferred

In a followup to my post of the 21st, I showed up for work yesterday and after a couple hours of doing basically nothing (I kept myself occupied canvassing the aisles, pulling forward product from the top shelf, so as to make it more accessible) I am informed by my manager my presence was desired in the HR office.  Apparently, from what they told him, the fulfillment center warehouse, from whence we receive shipments twice a day, was in dire need of help.  The HR manager wished to talk with me about filling some time over to help.

Dutifully I meander outside to the HR office, though this woman and I have not seen eye to eye on anything since her criticism of my attire and her utter incompetence - or negligence, perhaps - in helping the very employees she should have been helping the start.

Nevertheless, I wander into the office as requested, and there sits one of the assistant directors (perhaps the only "assistant" director) to address me.  While I also hold issues with this man for his vacuous promises of help, I think he is an honest broker of his words and intent, as he never has conveyed, or even attempted to convey, the harsh, stoic realty of a boss who holds your employment in the grasp of his clutched fist.  I think, instead, he is simply another simple man who has no vision as to how to resolve issues and how to fix problems.  He has no solutions.  He merely shows up for work and performs the same tasks as the day before.

I sit down, and I proceed to learn the deception the HR manager parlayed onto my manager, as this was not a meeting for asking me to fill hours over at the fulfillment center warehouse.  This was a reassignment.  This was a transfer.  This was a declarative statement of dismay over my continued presence that they did not want me there.

It was an odd feeling.  I have been fired from jobs before; but this was the first time I was dismissed from my position without actually losing my job, which is a good thing, though the surreal nature is retained because the fulfillment center warehouse, where I will be making an appearance in a few hours from now, I applied for a position there a couple of weeks earlier - and they did not want me either.  So I am working for a company that will not fire me, but also does not want me.

Why this is, I don't know.  It was comical, trying to listen to what the assistant director was saying, as to the reasons for this transfer; and it all boiled down, of course, to the dress code.  The HR manager has been in a huff for weeks now because I refused to acquiesce to her demands I wear different pants than I had been wearing for the past year and nine months.  No other manager ever said thing one to me about it - not even the assistant director before whom I sat, at any juncture, when I would see me on the store room's dilapidated floor.  It was only an issue to her.

For myself, I had no problem with any silly dress code this place business wished to inflict upon its employees.  I loathed the black shoes I was required to cover my feet in.  I despised with distaste the cheap piece of frippery they called a shirt.  Yet I wore them both everyday I showed up for work.  I took a stand against the pants because I found ridiculous for her to insist upon this silliness, while ignoring the plethora of problems the store faced.

Did any of this nonsense come about because of my letter to the CEO.  I cannot say, though I would lean towards not.  These people, who inherit corporations already built, they don't have the same entrepreneurial spirit the founders used to build them in the first place, thus they remain clueless as to what made the business successful from the start.  When a business takes care of its employees, its employees will take care of the customers, and the customers will take care of the business.  Sadly, the people in charge these days don't see it.

Summit Park

Yesterday, I attended my first church service since Easter of a year earlier.  I was raised in the church, so to speak, though I do not recall my parents ever holding membership anywhere at anytime.  Naturally, as a child, I would never have been privy to such information; though, reflecting back, it seems my family was never really locked into any one particular congregation for any length of time.  I remember no church members who were non-family.  All I recall is everyone in my family believed.

As I do, today, at this very moment.

I believe the words in the Bible are God's Word, and they are true - which begs the question: Why was yesterday the first appearance of myself, in any church service, for more than a year and a half?  The question is one I hope I can answer, over the succeeding weeks and months, as I intend posting comments that reflect upon continued attendance at the various churches I find.

For the first of these dates, yesterday, I began with a congregation known as Summit Park Church, the South Campus.  My reasoning behind this particular facility stems from its contemporary/casual nature.  It is a come-as-you-are atmosphere, which creates an ease when awakening on a Sunday morning.  While I still retain the belief one should always look one's best in a setting intent on worshipping God, the pressure to appear better than one is capable being non-existent was a tremendous draw in moving me back into a church setting.   I own no three-piece suit with fancy tie and shiny black shoes to show off to a congregation of soul's unimpressed; so why should I conceive of such a look as the only look acceptable to God Almighty?

The ease of come-as-you-are makes the return that much more promising.

The first service of the day was for nine o'clock.  I arrived shortly after eight-thirty, surprised by the lack of cars the parking lot supported.  It was an ease to find a quick spot to park, especially with the attendants directing my movements to the available spot.  I was delighted, upon exiting my car, at the number of greetings tossed my way - sincere, heartfelt greetings to the day I never once saw as contrived.  When these people wished me a good morning, they met it; and I responded in kind, meaning for them to have the same.

Once inside the door, my eyes bandied about, absorbing the spareness of the interior, scanning the foyer for any clues as to where I was to go next, what I was to do.  Everyone was dressed in the casual attire I expected.  Some carried paper cups I presumed could be found with coffee.  There were pastries available in small quantities.  When I spied the restrooms, I knew there laid my next stop, followed by a cup of coffee for myself, and wait for whatever would take place next.

My wait was not long.  When I saw people open the doors to the auditorium (this was the word over the door, though from all my prior church experience the room where worship was led was the sanctuary), I stepped inside to search out a seat.  A pleasant woman was there who greeted me, and I opted for a chair on the far right side of the building.

The first thought to strike me, after sitting there for a short while, was why was the room so dark.  The ceiling was black.  The walls were a mixture of grey and black.  The carpet was a navy blue.  The chair people were sitting in were black.  Why?  Such was my experience from practically all contemporary churches I visited.  The interior for all the church sanctuaries were dark; the lights were always dim; and I sat there, gazing about at where I was, wondering why.

When the service began, the musicians came out with three guitarists, a drummer and four singers.  The lighting shifted entirely to the stage, which was black also, and included various strobe lights which would shine on the stage and flash through audience.  With the music reverberating on a level which could only be classified as loud, I had to wonder if I was at a concert setting or at church.  Why was it so loud?  All contemporary church services are always loud.  Why?  How can one sing along to the music, when the music is so loud one cannot even hear one's own voice?  The previous day I was so blessed by an afternoon of music at home, where one song after the next, proclaimed honestly and earnestly the truth I accepted from God's Word, the Bible, in the language of the everyman.  I could sing along with the music I heard in my home environment and rejoice happily in the truth I thoroughly embraced.  The music I heard here, at this particular church, I could not sing along to, though the lyrics were broadcast across a screen.  It was too loud, and the phrasing of the lyrics was awkward.  It was  as if the same stock, cliched Christian phrases I knew from all my previous church experiences was in play.  There rested no substance behind the words being sung, though the words being sung were indeed true.

Following the music, the obligatory pastor makes his presence known, with further cliched Christianisms, as well as church announcements, before a couple church videos are played, which lead directly into the sermon.  I was surprised, a bit, at the sermon being broadcast from the other church, the North Campus main church; but after leaving that thought to the side, I sat relaxed and listened to what this pastor was preaching.  All in all, it was a rather solid sermon, though I must confess my weariness set in and I dozed briefly, which could either of been a result of the pastor's sermon or the darkened interior of the room in which I sat.  I suspect the latter.

Whatever I though would take place in my attending of this service, I really can't say.  I don't know.  It was a typical church experience.  It wasn't being ushered into the presence of God Almighty.  It wasn't being touched by the hands of Jesus.  It wasn't finding strength to fight the battles for the week ahead.  It was just church.  I have to wonder whether that's all there is anymore...

an employee's letter to the boss

Last evening, I returned home from work and immediately sat down here at my computer.  Over the course of the next four hours, I composed a letter I will be sending to the CEO of the company in which I work.  I post it here (absent the names, as they are unimportant for this purpose) as a salute to all hard-working employees everywhere.  You are not alone in your struggles.

November 20, 2019

Dear Sir:

In February of 2018, I was hired as an online shopper for one of your stores.  What I hope to accomplish here, in these few paragraphs I will try to compose, is to first relay an appreciation for the incredible people with whom I consider myself fortunate to have worked.  Everyone of them is a friend, not just a coworker, as we all passed through the same fire together.   The problems I faced, when attempting to carry out the functions of my job, were the same they faced. Whether it involved delivery vans not receiving proper maintenance, or products ordered by customers with no place on the shelves, or the overabundance of orders left to shop, while simultaneously answering phones and delivering pickups out to customers’ cars, all of us were intimately acquainted with the stress of a job where the workers were often insufficient and overlooked to meet the demands of a grateful customer based that never seemed to cease.

Secondly, I hope to make it clear this is not to be viewed as a gripe session from a disgruntled employee.  I have refrained multiple times from writing simply because the effort to do so would have been the very gripe session I do not wish to convey.  This is not a typical worker vs. management complaint.  The majority of managers at my store are honest, hard-working souls who face their own challenges in carrying out the functions of their own jobs.  I do not pretend to comprehend their tasks, as that mindset is not one I can call my own.  I fall into more of the outside-the-box thinker who considers the results of a particular action, or inaction, and always attempts to employ logic and common sense for the square peg to fit into the square hole.  What I observe is a lot of rounds pegs trying to be fit into square holes, as there are no square pegs; and there are no round holes.

So what is my complaint?  Why am I exerting this effort in the hope of garnering a small moment of your time?

It occurred two days ago.  The people I lauded as my coworkers, they are all gone - with the exception of a single college student who works the weekend, a tremendous worker who deserves recognition as the valued asset he is.

The time I am speaking of is a Monday, the busiest day for this particular store.  I arrived for my shift at two; and once the empty totes from the morning shipment are set on a pallet, wrapped, and sent to the dock, not much is left to do until the afternoon shipment arrives.  It is within this time frame I receive a call from Customer Care, submitting a question from a customer in regards to whether his order has arrived.  This same customer had apparently called our store just prior to this call, asking the same question, and was referred to the customer care number, which now called the store.

I explained the truck had not yet arrived with the order, but I anticipated it soon.

When I learned the customer’s name, I shared this with my former manager, who operated in a new capacity, though assisted with pickups when help was required.  He told me this same customer had called him half an hour earlier.

The truck was not on time.  It was late; and the customer called again.  I explained to him again that the truck had yet to arrive; but I could call him when it was there, so he gave me his number.

When the truck finally arrived, it was as late as it had ever been, and it had a large order of four pallets filled with totes.  As I was on my way back to the dock to begin retrieving this shipment, my former manager shared with me this same customer had called yet again, asking again about his order, which vexed me the man would not take me at my word to call him when the shipment arrived.

This particular customer, I must stop to explain, has been a problem for awhile.  For a time, he would order steaks, complain they weren’t the right steaks, and then receive either a refund, or replacements, or something.  He was scamming the store’s generosity, to which my former manager put to a stop.  Nevertheless, periodically, this man would still call to complain about something in effort to receive something for free.  He would cuss out my former manager.  One time, he cussed out me.  This particular night, he called customer service to complain, and cussed out the girl behind the desk answering the phones.  He is far from a nice man; and his presence that night became the first of my vexing problems.

There were four pallets from the afternoon delivery.  I pulled them out of the backroom and worked to maneuver them along the aisles of our busy store.  Twice, due to customer inattentiveness, I turned around in one aisle to attempt passage down another, only to face even worse conditions when reaching the front of the store.  The store has only one entrance to it.  That entrance is also the only exit.  This traffic, which continually was going in and out, passed along a narrow passageway in front of customer service.  This passageway was the same route I had to take with the four pallets of totes full of the groceries for that night of pickups.

Somehow, I managed to bring all four pallets to the front - but not before the first pickup arrived.  I had to stop retrieving the pallets from the back, so as to prepare and deliver into the parking lot the pickup of groceries the alert phone sounded.

I was fortunate, as this was the cusp of the steady stream of pickups to come over the next hour and a half, my former manager, as well as a former coworker in the former department, were present to assist, unpacking and arranging the orders I had yet managed to attend to, while I delivered the orders out to the customers awaiting their groceries in the parking lot.

This was a frantic hour and a half, perhaps hour and forty-five minutes of time, but nothing any of us where unaccustomed to.  Such frenzy had become commonplace in our execution of the online shopping department in this store; and when I utilize the term “frenzy”, I do not imply any of us have fallen into a frenzy.  On the contrary, the people I had the pleasure of working with, they are some of the most level headed, hard workers I have ever known.  The frenzy stirred out of the conditions in which we had to work.  There was no space in which to organize four pallets of totes, so my former manager and coworker made their own space - and that space encroached upon the traffic area of the customers leaving the registers to exit the building through the single exit/entrance the store has - directly passing where the totes were stored and organized, and where I was barely able to break through to retrieve the next pickup awaiting delivery.

The illogic of it all escapes me.  The diligence and persistent hard work of my coworkers, I stand up and applaud.  Absent their help, I would have seriously been facing dire circumstances, trying to cipher through the array of four totes yet unpacked, delivering each pickup through a parking lot of busy traffic, while additional customers continued to arrive.  There was no one else scheduled but myself, which is another moment of perplexing illogic I fail to understand.  This department of pickups is rapidly losing staff.  Where online shopping once boasted a healthy bounty of solid workers any company would be delighted to employ, this group now employs no one.  Last Thursday and last Saturday evening, there was no one to work.  This morning (Wednesday), as well as yesterday morning, there was no one to work.  Tomorrow and Friday evening, my days off from work, there is no one to work.

I don’t pretend to understand why this stands as the case; but it does appear to be a serious problem ignored.  I know our online shopping department, when the high schoolers the store employed left for college back in August, they were not replaced.  I counted at least nine employees, lost since that time frame, and only one person hired to replace them - a tremendous worker who will be lost after Friday, as her hours were cut when she transferred to another department.  She found work elsewhere, with the hours she needed.

My reason for mentioning this is I view such actions as why the “department” for pickups has no workers.  No one was hired to replace the online shoppers who left between August and October.  And those online shoppers who did exist, there was no effort to court their services in this new venture for pickups.  All that remains is myself, the college student who works the weekend, and two girls hired as stockers who were pulled to work pickups - and I have not seen either of them for days.

Which brings me to the entire crux of my letter.  When all the frenzy of the unpacking and organizing the totes had subsided, and the pickups had dropped off to where a semblance of order could be reestablished, my former manager wished to convey to me the HR department was displeased with the pants I wore.

I don’t even have words to express my utter perplexity at such a declaration.  With all the problems I faced in trying to carry out the functions of my job, I am chided for attire I have been wearing since I began in this employ.  It is a criticism which comes after I expressed to two managers the need for additional workers in this pickup operations, as well as the suggestion to shut down one facet of the self-checkout lane whenever the truck arrived with the afternoon shipment.  This would establish a more direct route from the dock in the backroom to the front where the orders are unpacked and arranged.  Instead, as is usually the case, one must traverse the aisles around the long way, in front of customer service, and the front door where people continually exit and enter, to bring the pallets up to the front.  A simple matter, I would think, which was acknowledged and ignored - as most things have been.  I have heard stories this has been the practice from the start.  A previous manager for online shopping requested from HR more help, was ignored, did all the work, and was chided for working so many hours.  What’s clearly of more importance to HR is to maintain some abstruse demeanor in attire, within a dilapidated store falling in on itself, than expediting the delivery of groceries to customers who wish to have nothing of the store experience on their agenda. 

These customers have articulated the appreciation they hold for this service time and time again.  Now the store needs to reciprocate with appreciation of the customers by ensuring prompt and assured delivery of their order.

Yet, contrary to what I see as logic and common sense, I am told attire is more important than service to the customer.  This is an issue which was flagged on me, six to eight months back, when the same HR department chided me for my shoes.  I was told I had to wear black shoes.  I could not wear white (though people have told me such a policy does not exist within other Hyvee stores).  Without regurgitating my displeasure at such a nonsensical dictate, let me conclude this lengthy epistle with what I replied to the manger who reiterated this pants dictate to me this evening, a dictate he received from the HR.   I told him that was not going to happen.  I am tired of this nonsense.  When there are far more pressing issues to resolve (issues that are not being addressed for whatever reasons), I am not going to spend money I do not have to buy something I do not want - especially when considering, for one year and nine months. I have carried out the tasks of this job to the best of my ability, adorned in the very pants the HR department now despises.  If my employment is dependent upon my pants, then fire me or transfer me to the fulfillment center,  Perhaps they value hard work above fashion sense.

Wendall Paul Sexton

Lee’s Summit Missouri

p.s. Whenever you receive this letter of mine, I probably will no longer be employed at the store of which I speak.  I will either be at the new fulfillment center, where I probably should have gone at the first, if they will have me, or somewhere else I have yet to consider.  If this is what occurs, the store will have no workers to deliver the pickups out to the customer’s cars.  Why?  I don’t know.  You have an abundance of good workers: some who are still in that employ; many who left it behind.  Why there is such little effort to retain such quality people is a mystery.

An Unlikely Friendship

It was a year ago, this very day, a friend of mine died.

I use not the term "friend" loosely here, as Vernette was indeed someone I thought quite highly of, and I appreciated every moment of time we shared.  She was not a person in my neighborhood I see walking her dog and engage in small talk whenever we pass.  She was not anyone I ever worked with, in any of the jobs in which I have been employed.  We never endured together the struggles of the work environment and the arduous task of the worker garnering respect from the employer.  She was not anyone I knew from my many days of schooling, nor from any of the various church associations of which it could be said I was a part.  No, Vernette was a woman I never met in person.  We never spoke on the phone, nor did she ever share a picture from which I could draw some image in my mind.  Our correspondence ran solely through this medium of emails and messaging.

It began when she discovered a common ancestor the two of seemed to share.  A family out of England, back in the 1600s, saw descendants emigrate to America, as well as Australia, the country of which Vernette called her home.  It seemed, at first, we would be distant, distant cousins, which would have been an extraordinary find for any soul interested in their family history.  To discover a relative from another state within the country in which you personally reside is one thing; to find a relation from an entirely different country itself is a rare jewel to unearth.

As it played out, such a connection was not to be.  Initially, we shared the typical in-law or a brother who married the cousin of a sister who was the in-law of blah, blah, blah.  Now, in a revelation I discovered after Vernette's passing, the connection is closer, as a first cousin three times removed of hers married a third cousin twice removed of mine.  It's still not a familial relationship; and maybe that okay.  I treasured every letter received from this "pot-smoking, atheist granny" because we stripped away what was different (on the surface, we shared nothing in common), discovered what was important, and related to one another on that level.  She may be the only person I have ever known, who knew me for who I am, and accepted me anyway.  That is a friend.

Mary Did You Know

I found myself with something of an idea a few days back, and I wanted to share it, send it out, spread it abroad to all and any who may read these words of mine - today or in a day yet to come.  Some might argue it's not wise to share ideas of brilliance, as they can be mocked, they can be used, they be claimed by others as their own in this unscrupulous world.  Others might laugh with derision at my assertion "brilliance', viewing such a moniker as lacking in humility, and thus any virtue requiring notice.

Perhaps. 

There is a certain case to be made for the existence of thieves, who profit on others' flashes of inspiration and hard work.  However, who am I to manifest any work with this light bulb hanging over my head.  I have not the means to develop anything beyond what words I might be able to offer here.  Thus, hence is my idea.

A song was written, a decade or two back, by a man with the name of Mark Lowry.  While he recorded it, I believe, it was made popular by another singer, Michael English; and it has been recorded multiple times, on multiple occasions, over the years since.  One of those recordings was by a vocal group, Pentatonix, who are known for their rich harmonies and haunting vocals.  I was listening to their rendition of the song, over the Christmas season, and it struck how easily it could serve as a template for a new type of Christmas movie.  Consider, for a moment, the story of the Nativity, taken from Mary's perspective.  What did she think when the angel appeared her, announcing she would be the vessel for God's entry into the world?  Was she see an earthly king?  Or was she seeing what actually transpired?

Build a new movie around Mary, as a young mother, watching her children at play.  She sees her young son Jesus, playing with his siblings; and she remembers the angel Gabriel with his announcement.  She remembers escape into Egypt.  She remembers the return to Nazareth.  She remembers the prophecies in the temple.  She remembers finding Jesus in the temple, speaking with the elders.

Then, as she watches Him continue to play, she foresees His future, making this telling of the Gospel account both Christmas and Easter in one - with Mary as the narrator, telling the story through what experiences, what she imagines, even what she fears.

a matter of courtesy

A funny thing happened to me while going about my normal morning routine one day.  It wasn't anything of extraordinary circumstances; rather, it was mundane and sadly predictable.  Nevertheless, it became an action which irked me.  I thought to myself, 'How dare you have such disregard for where I sit.'

My normal morning routine is to venture out to a nearby coffeeshop, find myself a place by the window (the windows offer wonderful views of the outdoors), and engage in a few hours of reading the Scriptures, coupled with the stereotypical coffee mug and occasional bagel or pastry to munch on at my side.

One of these mornings, as the day began to dawn over the horizon, and my time was nearing an end for that portion of my day, a man whom I did not know, nor had I ever seen before that moment, stepped over to where I was sitting and began to lower the shades of the window at my side.  I understood why he was doing this.  The sun was beaming through the window, and it could have been striking him, or a companion of his, in the eyes, causing discomfort to his own morning ritual.  What tossed me into a quiet stew was the utter lack of any courtesy in asking my permission first before even reaching for the chords to the shades that would diffuse the light of the sun.  I had no problem in letting the shades be lowered - though, for myself, I always prefer sunlight to any lack thereof.  What I objected to, in my quiet stewing, was the callous way this man went about doing what he wished, regardless to whether I agreed to the same or not.

Granted, such is a trivial, trifling thing.  I could easily acquiesce to the lowering of the shades, just as the man could easily have put up with a few moments of the sun beating up his countenance - as its light would have moved in time's short span.  What vexed me then, as it vexes me now, is one person's attitude in seeing his way as being implicitly agreed to by all other simply because he cannot consider a new view, i.e. perhaps I preferred the shade open. 

A  little bit of courtesy, in first asking to lower the shade, acknowledges another person may hold a different perception of the sun, welcoming its warming embrace and clarity of light, and diffuses the potential for any hard feelings which immediately result from such a callous and discourteous act as what I experience.  Again, granted, such is a trivial matters; but it stands as indicative of a larger cultural problem, where one person does not acknowledge the perspectives of another person because the second person is not acknowledged at all.

The more we come to acknowledge the existence of other people, and the contrasting views they may hold to our own, the more we can engage with one another to avoid more or the like-minded trivial happenings in our day to day to day.