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Compassion Fatigue
The deluge of stories and information that are available or force fed to us online include a sufficient misfortune quotient so as to have spawned the term compassion fatigue. At some point, each of us reaches our threshold for expressions of sympathy and sorrow. I’m sorry your dog has gone missing, but the death of Gail’s uncle, the return of Darren’s gout and the cancellation of the much needed fundraiser for the Fletcher Memorial Home for the Incurably Morose has me out of emoticon tears.
I’m spent.
With all the outflow of compassion that is beckoned from us, it may seem peculiar that I have a long-standing and ever-present soft spot in my heart for certain inanimate objects. My well of tears never runs dry for the following:
- chairs, couches and loveseats in fancy hotel lobbies that you know no one ever sits in
- spoons in the silverware drawer that never make it into the rotation
- the Charlie-in-the-box from the Island of Misfit Toys
- the digits 6, 7, 8 and 9 on the microwave timer that, honestly, rarely get used
- that last paper towel that is so epoxied to the cardboard roll that you simply dispose of them together
But nowhere is the quiet suffrage of the inanimate more profound and poignant than in the automotive parts aisle of the grocery store.
Here is the pinnacle of pathetic. The denouement of despondency.
Point in fact: when is the last time you saw a store clerk restocking any portion of the auto parts inventory in a grocery store? And if you had a such a unicorn moment, did you take the opportunity to ask him what the preferred motor oil viscosity is for high mileage engines?
Honestly, the automotive parts aisle of the supermarket is the equivalent of a flyover state. No one goes down there, unless they’re lost or using it as a shortcut to the dairy case. But if I can just implore you – try it sometime.
Wander down there and just pause for a moment. You will likely spy the car fragrances, dash wipes, and perhaps a snazzy cell phone mounting clamp. Maybe even a molded plastic thing that handily fits between the seats and purports to be a place to store coins and crap.
Don’t dally in front of them.
They actually stand a chance.
Instead, focus your vigil on those items with a life sentence, with no hope of purchase parole.
- chrome polish
- the variety pack of fuses
- transmission fluid
- the handy toolkit
- motor oil
- taillight bulbs
These are the items that have spent their existence thinking they’re in an auto parts store; just over the horizon are hoses, oil filters, brake pads, carburetors, intake manifolds…
You and I know, in fact, that the next aisle is seasonal, then cat food, and then everything else beyond has an expiration date. There are no products from Fram, ACDelco, or Edelbrock. The only mention of Napa might be on the back of the some of the bottles in the wine section.
You’re busy, pressed for time, and you’ve already been to the frozen treats section of the store, so your Klondike bars are melting. I know you can’t linger, but perhaps for just a moment survey the lonely souls in the automotive aisle. Take a mental snapshot. Note the dust on the bottles, the faded labels, the now-yellowed clear plastic containers. And if your heart moves you to do so, pretend to ask a store associate, “Pardon me, where would I find ignition coils?”
That’ll make their day.
And if you ever make it back, they’ll be waiting for you. Because in all likelihood, they’ll be in Aisle B17 forever.
You know… I never thought about this before. I now feel called to visit this aisle and release those air fresheners from purgatory. You can never have too many, amirite?? And while we’re at it, can we please give a shoutout that store-brand focaccia that looks pretty for two days and then gets chopped into store-brand croutons? They needs love, too.
I was staying in a hotel the other day and likewise, there was a large rickety wooded display case full of glossy tri-fold “See Rock City”, “Dollywood”, and other Must-See destination pamphlets! I haven’t even used the WORD pamphlet since 1978…until now! Oh…and there were paper maps. I felt sorry for them. All mixed up and not in their original designated slots. Staring at me….”pick me”, “pick me”. I’m not gonna lie, I felt sorry for them. I tried not to make eye contact with them the next morning as I was leaving.
Love the reach of your compassion, Tim.
I sometimes apologize to fruit when we fail to finish the container of strawberries or raspberries — only firm and fresh for a few days, once home. They’ve gone soft and that day I don’t have time to freeze them individually for smoothies, so they lived in sunshine and rain, growing and forming, then to be picked and packaged, waiting to be enjoyed or baked into some delightful dessert, and instead are meeting the disposal or trash can. They must feel so cheated. So let down.
The automotive aisle surely gets some compassion, but think of the stockers who don’t get to see their hard work on displays realized. I feel compassion for the products on the lowest shelf that get passed over because of their placement.