Working up the strength to finally leave my well-blanketed couch this afternoon, I head over to the drug store for some evil death flu remedies. I somehow manage to avoid running through the store screaming "Yay, taquitos!" but that's for another time. The woman in front of me at the register is asking about the sale price of certain candy bars. I don't look down on this; some people are cheap and/or poor and still eat candy. She's holding an envelope with "1.78" written on the front. Without context to make any meaning, I don't notice it until it's gone. The cashier is helping her count some change out. "We can't accept Canadian," she says, handing back a foreign coin. My turn at the register, I wonder out loud (but not too loudly since the woman is still just a few steps away) "isn't she a bit old to be buying candy with change?"

"She tried to buy cigarettes with that, but she didn't have enough"
"Sad"
"Well, we see it all the time, people just getting out of jail, or the hospital. At least she'll get something in her stomach until she can get someplace"

I'm ashamed of myself now. The white envelope contained the contents of her pockets when she was admitted to the emergency room just two blocks away. It's no wonder she needed so much help counting, now that I notice she can barely stand up. Jumping to conclusions, making rash judgments, I'm too often guilty (and not just with people.)

What I said and felt about the woman in front of me in line might be correct, but that doesn't make it right to say it.