Listen Free: | Apple Podcasts | Castbox | Pandora
On a routine trip to a Northeast Ohio institution, a simple checkout line becomes something more...
In this story, Aaron reflects on the quiet shift from living transactionally to truly seeing the people around us, sparked by his daughter’s instinct to imagine a life behind a stranger’s eyes. What begins as a quick stop at Discount Drug Mart turns into a meditation on dignity, attention, and the small stories we almost miss.
*Dive deeper into the 7MS Universe and connect with Aaron on...
The Team:
Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Calafato
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Theme Music: thomas j. duke
Additional Soundscape Design: Isaac Gehring
TRANSCRIPT
Walter: The Story of an Elegant Man
This is going to sound strange, but sometimes you have to tell a fictional story about someone who’s real… just to even begin to see them.
That’s why I’m going to tell you a story about Walter.
And why he buttons his shirt so elegantly before he goes to work.
So first, I’m using the alias of Walter because there are a lot of folks locally who listen to this podcast, and I never want to give up names when I don’t have to.
But I will tell you about the place.
And since this is a nonprofit endeavor… it’s free advertising for them.
For Ohioans—specifically Northeast Ohioans—there’s a magical place called Discount Drug Mart.
In their advertising for decades, they would say:
“Discount Drug Mart saves you the runaround. You’ll find everything you need.”
And they’re not lying.
My mom would take me there as a kid, and I’m not kidding you… in five minutes or less, she could get her prescription, over-the-counter cortisone cream, some bird seed, some bug spray, a gallon of strawberry ice cream, a sweatshirt… and then grab some Mentos on the way out.
I’m telling you—they have everything you need.
So this lets you know how often, and how much time, I’ve spent in these stores across the decades.
Now my daughter has joined me in the tradition.
We do this thing called “Drug Mart runs.”
We go out there at 9:00 PM on a weekend… just walking around, maybe finding a bag of chips.
I’m reminiscing about the VHS tapes they used to sell on the wall for a quarter.
Man…
Like they said in Field of Dreams:
“The memories are so thick, I have to brush them away from my face.”
But one thing has changed… in a way I’m not really proud of.
It’s me.
And it’s not just Drug Mart—it’s the transactional lifestyle.
Look… all of us have a transactional mode and an authentic mode.
That’s what I call it.
There’s some overlap, sure… but oftentimes, we’re polarized.
And that’s bled into my experiences—not just at Drug Mart, but everywhere.
I’m walking around like a machine.
Like an Android.
Just completing the task.
And I forget the human beings around me.
Now listen—I can’t talk to everybody. Neither can you.
You can’t have a Socratic dialogue with the cashier when there are five minutes to dinner and you forgot the Parmesan cheese.
You can’t have a podcast interview with Walter.
Now Walter… as I mentioned before… is this gentleman that, for probably years, I didn’t even notice.
I was so wrapped up in my phone… my bank account… inserting the card… tapping… overwhelmed by all the noise…
I didn’t stop and look at him.
But one day, we’re checking out.
I’ve got some cough drops.
My daughter’s got Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
And we both look at him.
Walter.
An older gentleman.
Standing up straight.
He bags everything, and as we walk away, my daughter says:
“That’s a very elegant, gentle man.”
I said, “How do you know that?”
She said, “I just started telling a story about him in my head. From how he moved… how he acted… how he looked at you. He seems elegant. Like he takes pride in his work.”
I said… this is interesting.
You’re just making up a story.
But she wasn’t stereotyping. She wasn’t mocking.
She was noticing.
And I was… floored.
And honestly… a little embarrassed.
Because here I am—a storyteller… someone always looking for entry points…
And I missed it.
So we start building the story together.
I say, “I think Walter might have a really nice home life.”
She says, “Maybe his wife passed away.”
I said, “Maybe. Or maybe they’re just settling into later years together.”
She says, “Maybe she gardens during the day.”
I said, “Yeah. And maybe Walter used to be a successful businessman.”
She says, “And he didn’t like retirement… because he found meaning in work.”
I said, “Exactly.”
So Walter decides… why not go back to where it all began?
He becomes a cashier at Drug Mart.
She says, “Maybe he liked Drug Mart just like us, Dad.”
And now we’re building something.
I said, “I bet in the morning, after coffee… after he kisses his wife goodbye… he goes into the bedroom, stands up straight, and buttons his shirt… slowly… one button at a time… looking in the mirror.”
“And maybe… he smiles.”
Because he loves what he does.
Maybe when he was building his career, moving fast, being transactional… he missed the simple moments.
Now… he’s found them again.
Maybe that’s why he has that slight smile.
But also that seriousness.
My daughter says, “Yeah… he’s serious about his work. But he cares.”
I said, “He cares.”
There’s dignity in Walter.
There’s meaning in Walter.
And I said to her…
“You saw it. I missed it.”
“I’m going to try to look for it… a little more.”
So the next time I went to Drug Mart…
I wanted Walter’s line.
I grab something random—barbecue chips, shaving cream.
I step up.
We make eye contact.
He’s carefully scanning, bagging.
And I say, “Walter.”
He looks up.
I say, “Your name tag… every time I see the name Walter, I think of Walter Matthau.”
He pauses.
Then says, “You know what’s funny? I was just watching a Walter Matthau movie before I came into work today.”
I said, “Really?”
He goes, “Yeah. One of my favorite actors.”
Then he pauses, looks at me, and says:
“Now that’s a guy who’s good at his job.”
Then, like nothing happened:
“You want a receipt?”
I said, “Sure.”
He hands it to me.
“Take care.”
I walk out.
Crumple the receipt like I always do.
Throw it away.
Get to my car.
And just… sit there.
Because I realize…
If my daughter and I hadn’t made up those stories…
I wouldn’t know anything about him.
And I still don’t.
Not really.
But I do know this:
Walter… at Drug Mart… is a man of dignity.
A man of pride.
He’s good at his job.
And…
He loves Walter Matthau.
The only question is…
If he wasn’t watching Grumpy Old Men…
What movie was it?
Well…
That’s a story for another day.
Or another trip to the drugstore.
I’ll talk to you next week.