My late Dad used to believe that there is something special in everyone
He used to embarrass us by starting in depth conversations with waiters or waitresses, poking around to see what else was going on with their life. I'll never forget one mousy, quiet waitress - the least "different" person you would ever want to see, and when he asked her what else she did when she wasn't working at the restaurant, she started telling us about training horses that went on to the Olympics with their rich owners. That sort of thing happened all the time.
Once at a turnpike rest stop, he was in line with the Governor of Pennsylvania, and said "Governor Shapp, I want you to meet my friend Sue" and he introduced the Governor by name to the stunned teenaged cashier (my dad commuted between the Philly suburbs and Lancaster every day for a few years, so he knew all the rest stop cashiers by name).
The young guy at the turnpike reststop McDonald's drive-through window was smart to tell my Dad he was a huge baseball fan, because he subsequently saw more Phillies games from our family's season ticket seats than I did. A turnpike tollbooth guy became a golf partner after my dad found out he was also an avid public-links golfer (how do you have a conversation with a toll-booth guy?)
The elderly cleaner at the hospital got a contribution that helped him accompany his church's mission to Africa after my dad asked about what he did outside the hospital. Another hospital cleaner was singing quietly to herself late one night as she mopped up after my dad's roommate, and after a conversation with my dad, ended up coming in on her off time to sing hymns for my dad and his roommate.
There are treasures all around us, in the damaged and the "normal", cleaning our floors and checking out our library books.
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