My wife works at Sam’s Club. Recently, the company gave her an award recognizing fifteen years of service. I was happy for her too.
For fifteen years she stood at the store entrance welcoming people as they came and went, forming close friendships with customers. White people, Black people, Filipinos, Koreans, Chinese—all greeted her warmly, and she welcomed them with the same kind smile.
Through fifteen winters and springs, people’s names for her changed from “Miss Sam” to “Mrs. Sam” and finally to “Mom.” It showed how her youth had passed through the changes of time.
I remember when we first came to America, the whole family had only one old car. I worked the night shift, so I needed the car. My wife had to get up before dawn to catch the bus. She changed buses two or three times along the way. By the time she finished work and reached home, the streetlights were already on.
Hard work itself was not the worst of it. She was also frequently fired. During the first three years, she worked applying glue in a shoe factory, sewing piecework in a garment factory, cutting sheet metal in a metal shop, and making coffee as an office helper. Because work was unstable, she was deeply frustrated.
She made up her mind to study English seriously. Every day after work, she hurried to adult school. She was often late, and sometimes by the time she reached the classroom the lesson was already half over. The teacher understood how hard she was working and still praised her diligence in front of the class.
Fifteen years ago, she became unemployed again. After taking a cashier course at adult school, she applied for a job at Sam’s Club. She submitted the application and waited, but no news came.
Every few days she went back to the personnel office to ask. She did not lose heart and was not afraid of being turned away. At first, perhaps because her English was weak, they brushed her off. After nearly three months, they saw that she was sincere and honest and finally agreed to interview her and approve the application.
At the time, she was the company’s only Chinese employee.
During her first two years, her limited English really did create difficulties. Some customers tried to enter without showing membership cards. Some tried to leave without showing receipts. Some deliberately made things difficult for her.
Still, she swallowed her irritation, kept smiling, and held to the rules. Several times, people from corporate headquarters came to inspect the store without identifying themselves. She politely refused to let them pass the entrance. In the end, she was praised for it.
Many people think that standing at the entrance checking receipts and greeting customers is easy and simple. It is not.
Standing eight hours a day is monotonous enough. After doing it day after day, year after year, her feet became stiff and swollen after work. Once she got home and lay down, she did not want to get up again.
For several years, her ankles became so swollen that walking was difficult. She staggered. But for the sake of earning a living, she had to grit her teeth and keep going, swallowing her tears.
Over those fifteen years, several coworkers at the entrance came and went. Only she remained there all the way through.
New immigrants from Burma often said her Burmese was very standard—my wife was born in Burma—and they loved talking with her, as if meeting a relative. People from other ethnic groups would greet her in Chinese with “Ni hao?” or “Zai jian.” Some simply called out, “Hi, Sam’s Mom.”
When customers were leaving, children liked to hand her their receipts so she could draw a smiley face on them.
Recently, a woman came shopping with a tall, strong young man and said to my wife:
“Do you know? He used to be only this tall. Now he’s this tall.”
As she spoke, she gestured with her hands.
My wife looked at the somewhat shy young man and said with surprise and delight:
“Oh, yes! Time passes so quickly!”
Originally published in Our Stories, compiled by the Los Angeles Burmese Chinese Middle School Alumni Association, Macao, 2007.