Time To Return To The Fold

(I work at a popular clothing store, and my job is to fold and hang anything customers mess up or pull off hangers. A middle-aged woman and her young daughter — about six or seven years old — come over next to me while I am folding a pile of t-shirts. I have just finished folding the shirts when, without saying a word, she picks a shirt from the pile, holds it in the air, crumples it, and throws it back down, and then continues doing that with the rest of the shirts.)

Me: “Ma’am, please don’t do that; I have just folded those. If you tell me what size you are looking for I would be glad to help.”

(She keeps unfolding each and every shirt until she has unfolded all of them, and then starts browsing all the other clothes. After she has moved, I start to refold the pile all over again.)

Daughter: “I can help you fold these again; I am sorry about my mommy.”

Me: “It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to. Thank you.”

(Her daughter starts folding the shirts, anyway, and folds a few so perfectly and cleanly.)

Daughter: “It’s okay. Mommy makes me fold my clothes all the time.”

(She made my day. Thank you, little girl, for restoring my faith in humanity!)