“Patience is a virtue,” echoed Mom’s voice throughout my entire childhood like a moral screensaver.
After five days in survivor mode.
No wallet.
No phone.
Mom and Dad swooped in like angels with a debit card and covered one more night at the short-term rental. They even added their card details so I could eat something other than humble pie.
The first thing I bought?
A white Monster and some Reese’s Pieces. Because when you’ve been in full-blown feral mode, the little things hit like gourmet.
Later that day, I headed to Tesco to stock up on groceries like a responsible adult. A basket full of basics, a mind full of gratitude—and then… Declined.
The card wouldn’t go through. Mom called the bank. They said they’d call back.
So I stood there. Waiting. Watching. Breathing.
And you know what?
This wasn’t a moment to get frustrated.
It was a divine cue to slow down. To appreciate the orchestra of life moving around me.
10 minutes passed.
20.
30.
45.
Several times, I felt the twitchy urge to text Mom: “Call them back!”
But instead, I practiced patience. I watched people come and go. Listened to conversations. Studied the different walks of life around me. God’s gallery.
That’s where I realized how lucky I really am.
(Okay, fine—I did text Mom a cheeky reminder to practice patience herself, to which she replied she needed it. Naturally, I responded:
“Practice what you preach, am I right?!”)
And then—Elaina. The angel. The legend.
She asked what I was doing. I told her the truth: just waiting on the bank, been about 45 minutes.
“How much is it?” she asked.
“About 40 pounds,” I replied.
“Would you like me to pay?”
Excuse me, ma’am?!
(Implied: “Elaina, you beautiful specimen.” Said with a charming smirk and a twinkle in the eye.)
“You’re under no obligation,” I said coolly, “but I will not stop you.”
And she did. She paid. I got her photo. Elaina, if you’re reading this, you restored more than just my groceries.
As I walked out, basking in the glow of human kindness, I realized something horrifying.
I had deodorant in my bag I hadn’t paid for.
Plot twist.
So later, I went back.
I showed the clerk my receipt. Told her the truth.
“I stole this deodorant. I need to pay for it or return it.”
(It was £2.85. A necessary item, let’s be real.)
The clerk blinked.
“Not a lot of people do stuff like this.”
As if she were saying "You're Built Different, Dalton"
Naturally, I gave her the look—bit lip, raised eyebrows. You know the move:
Okay, okay, It went more like this:
“Elaina did the right thing when she paid for my groceries.
Wouldn’t be right if I didn’t do the right thing too.
I’d like to pay for the deodorant.”
She asked for my receipt. Like she wouldn't believe that I stole it without proof.
And then I paid for it—with my last £5.
A scratch-off ticket I’d won weeks ago, stashed away for a rainy day.
So yeah, world.
I may be broke.
But I am clean.
Smelling good.
And still… built different.