“Have a nice day, Mom,” I said.
“You have a better one,” she replied.
That was Mom. Harry’s Mom.
The back story here? We moved to La Jolla from Los Angeles in 1980 — me and the woman who would eventually become my wife (OK. We fled like refugees at the first possible moment. But that’s another story.) We found a place to rent in the village — on Draper, a couple of blocks south of Pearl.
Every day I would go into Harry’s Coffee Shop on Girard. You may know Harry’s. It’s been a La Jolla institution since 1960 when Harry Rudolph and his wife Catherine opened it.
For several years I went every morning – coffee, two poached eggs, whole wheat toast unbuttered. First thing I learned at Harry’s was that if you ordered two eggs you got three. Waitress: “You want two eggs where you get three or one egg where you get two?”
If you WANTED only two eggs, you ordered one.
So I ate a lot of eggs at Harry’s.
And when I was done I’d take my bill up to the cashier — who was Harry’s Mom. Everybody called her Mom. So, eventually, did I. And we got friendly. We chatted while she made change for my breakfast. And when I left I would say, “Have a nice day, Mom.” And she would always respond, “You have a better one.”
So that’s the back story. Those of you who are of a sufficiently advanced age may remember Mom and know what I’m talking about.
Well the years went by, I eventually got married, moved to Del Mar, had kids — the usual stuff.
That time at Harry’s is now 40-plus years ago. But I never forgot Mom. When someone would say, “Have a nice day” to me, Mom’s reply would echo in my head: “You have a better one.”
Now, because hearing Mom’s voice in my head always made me feel good, I decided to start saying that to people who said “have a nice day” to me. At first it was a little awkward.
But people who would give me that automatic “haveaniceday” would look up — always a little surprised when I said, “You have a better one.” And they would say thank you. And smile.
So it became a habit.
And it became its own reward — my way of brightening up someone’s day just a bit, and mine as well. It’s a way of humanizing these otherwise mechanical interactions we have with the people who say, “Have a nice day.”
The other day, as I finished having my groceries checked out at Frazier Farms — they don’t have self-checkout yet — the checker said, “Have a nice day.” I stopped, looked at her, smiled, and gave her my best “You have a better one.”
I don’t know why I did that. But she picked her head up and looked at me. Our eyes met for just a second. And she said, “Thank you.“ And then: “I really needed that this morning.”
Now, I don’t know why she really needed that. But she did. And it was gratifying to inject a little real human interaction to her perhaps dehumanizing job, and maybe lift her spirits just a little.
So why am I telling you all this? Try it. When someone gives you the mechanical “Have a nice day,” you pause, make a little eye contact, and say, “You have a better one.” And see what happens. You might like it.
And if Mom is anywhere she can hear us, she’ll be smiling, too.
Rocky Smolin is a retired software developer who lives in Carlsbad and plays the upright bass in three bands.
