Mid-January this year, my Dad had to spend a few weeks in the hospital. He headed home and was on the mend, but my mom sent out the sos and said come up for a visit. They could use a helping set of hands and “some entertainment.” On it. 

Perhaps it’s in my DNA to triage, make things happen, and find solutions in tense or stressful situations. From my restaurant days to Peace Corps days to parents needing help days, I’m good at kicking it in to gear. 

Upon being at my parent’s house for one day, it became clear that the wicker chair with pillows propping up my Dad’s back was not the answer to his seating comfort and was not helpful in getting him some strength back. There was only one answer: it was time for a recliner. 

Mom and I headed out and hit up a store per a  friend’s recommendation. It was HomeGoods-esque…We perused. There were a few. None would do. 

I assessed the situation as we looked around the store hoping the ideal recliner was hiding behind a potted plant. Our nerves: pretty frazzled. General worry about the whole situation: tipping the top of the scale. Pat’s and my desire to shop on a good day–non-existant. Pat’s and my tendency to be frugal, extraordinary. 

There were some conflicting characteristics happening but after a quick check in to see which of those feelings dominated, I turned to Pat and said, “Mom. This is not the time to cruise around town shopping at various stores looking for a unicorn chair. We need to be smart. We need to be strategic. We need to head to the mecca: (Say it with me.) Lazyboy.” 

I got an immediate OK. Good sign. 

Then: “Mom, Lazyboys can run in the tens of thousands of dollars (which is a slight exaggeration but I figured go high to reduce sticker shock, you know) so you gotta be prepared to drop a few bucks.” 

I got an, “OK that was more like a we’ll see.” I figured I could work with that. 

We headed into the Lazyboy, that sea of reclining heaven. We started to wander around, pretending not to be overwhelmed. 

That’s when Molly arrived. Molly would become our salesperson. But there was something about Molly, right away, that connected. I think the first line I said to her was, “Do I know you?” 

Molly started asking us the normal questions, and my mom high-leveled my Dad had been in the hospital and was on the road to recovery. Then I laid it out. “Molly. We’re not looking for the super-high-end-super-expensive model. We’re not looking for the largest chair you got. We’re looking for a few steps above basic that will help my Dad, that will fit into my mom’s living room, and we’re looking to make this happen fairly quickly.” 

“Got it.” She gave us a quick rundown and encouraged us to start testing out the wares while she did an inventory check for floor models that she could sell that day. 

Pat and I tested a few…one stood out. I gave it a ride and then told Pat to settle in. I went about my business and then turned around a few minutes later to see Pat practically asleep in the chair saying, “This chair is soooo comfortable.” 

SOLD! Pat flinched a bit at the price before she sat in that thing but once her legs were up and that lumbar support kicked in, she cared not. 

I called Molly over and told her we had a live one…and Molly shared that she’d have to check with her manager to see if she could sell that model. 

The churning in my stomach kicked in again. I told myself to chill and it was a chair and there were other chairs but that five minutes of relief of getting this accomplished and what it would do for my Dad and seeing my Mom so relaxed got my expectations up. Then with the chance that it might not happen, all the anxiety and angst rushed back in. My internal chant was, “Please say yes please say yes please say yes.” 

Molly approached. “My manager said yes. It’s yours. I’m putting a sold sign on it right now!”

I don’t think I hugged her…but maybe I did. She then encouraged us to have Dad come in and give it a test drive to make sure he’d be comfy. We made that happen the next day, and that afternoon Dad was chillin’ in his new remote controlled recliner, comfortable and cozy and the most appreciative I’ve ever heard him. It’s not that he wasn’t a thankful sort of guy…more just a man of few words…so his effusive expression of thanks was an indicator of just how sweet that chair was. 

The chair is awesome. But it’s Molly who is more awesome. 

From the second we walked in, she had an ease about her. She didn’t get up and walk away or ditch us on someone else when I basically said hey, yo, we’re fairly cheap so can we get a baseline model? It didn’t even phase her. She listened. She heard what we were after. I can’t say for sure but I had a feeling she sensed some of mom’s and my angst and general nerve-wrackedness over the whole situation. She was there the next day and met my Dad. She helped us get it into their car. 

She was present. Thoughtful. Caring. Efficient. 

I walked out the first day and said to my mom, “I love Molly.” 

The next day after Molly helped my Dad and got us the chair packed up I did turn to her and give her a hug. 

How she listened. How she cared. How she read the room and did what she had to do to make a tough situation smooth and easy. 

I thanked her and gave her the gist of my appreciation because I am that person from the Progressive commercials who shares what I think to random strangers…so she has an idea of how helpful she was. 

I don’t know if she’ll ever know for sure how her ease, her helpfulness, her general vibe were such a relief to me. How her help made that chair happen and how that chair became a highlight of the week. That knowing we were in good hands and she had us…made me more comfortable and calm that week than any $10,000 chair could. 

Be like Molly. Meet people where they are. Care. Do what it takes, which so often is just being present to what’s going on in front of you.