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It was a day of rest, and I found myself grumpy enough, refueling the family car. It was a common fuel stop that doubles as a convenience store, which often leads of waiting behind people bearing baskets of pricey provisions. It's an awful situation to unfold when your only desire is to pay for some fuel. Terrible.

I was fourth in the queue. A single cashier operating, a youthful clerk. A peculiar quality about her. After the ditherer at the first position had at last settled for a cleaning product, his pastry, and a carton of eggs, I could have sworn I heard the cashier bid him an excellent day. Unusual. Could be I misunderstood, or perhaps she spoke and was being sarcastic. I wondered if she could even be an ally in my battle with dithering, echoing my disdain for those who delay simple fuel-buyers like me.

Advancing next, to third in the queue. The next shopper of our line completed her gasoline purchase with impressive quickness. Again, the phrase came: “Have a wonderful day.” In fact, it was “have a wonderful day”. An American? In Stourbridge? Her tone suggested it, and no British person wishes anyone such a cheerful phrase, or merely a pleasant day. Very rare. Rarely does one encounter US citizens visiting this town, certainly not employed at gas stations or elsewhere.

Now I stood second. After an elderly lady dealing with a protracted effort with her shopping cart, her groceries, her wallet and her rewards card. It went on for ever. When she was done, she as well was wished an excellent day. Definitely from the US. Confirming it was possible by making a witty remark at the cashier, to observe that reaction their typical stare, unsmilingly, and state very earnestly: “You are very amusing.” However, nothing occurred of a funny comment to express.

Ultimately, I accepted the genuine warmth – or a mimicry of sincerity, which amounts to the same thing – while she stared directly into my eyes, deep into my soul, and bid me to have a great day. It improved my mood. It was a good thing.