This one is a little different than what I usually write.

And before I even get into it, I want you to know this didn’t happen to me directly. It’s a story I heard from someone very close to me, and I’m sharing it because the bottom line matters. The meaning matters. And honestly? I want to hear from you after you read it. Your opinions. Your experiences. Your take.

Because lately, I have been thinking about how fast we all move.

Every single month feels like a mad dash. We’re running from one thing to the next, checking boxes like it’s a game we can’t afford to lose. Work. Kids. Appointments. Groceries. Emails. Laundry. Life. And it doesn’t matter if you have a full house or live solo — the “urgent” stuff always has a way of showing up at the worst possible moment.

You know what I mean.

The last-minute “I need permanent markers for school and I forgot to tell you” conversation. The text that says, “We’re out of coffee,” right when you thought you were heading home. The one more stop, the one more errand, the “it’ll just take a minute” moment that stretches your day thin.

So now that I’ve set the stage of the moment we’re all in when we’re standing in a checkout line, it’s time to get into the guts of where I’m going.

So here’s what happened.

Someone I love was out running errands for their beloved pet. Just a quick stop. In and out. Or at least it was supposed to be.

Standing in front of them at the checkout was a person searching through their bag. Digging. Then digging again. That familiar panic where you know they’re five seconds away from dumping their entire life — receipts from 2009 included — onto the conveyor belt while the line grows longer and the silence grows louder.

Without hesitation, without drama, without performance — the person I love reached into their wallet and asked, very kindly: “Excuse me, how much do you need?”

(Which, by the way, is how rom-coms and Hallmark movies start. That felt important to note, especially this time of year.)

The response — and this isn’t exact, but close enough — was “57 cents.”

They handed the cashier a $5 bill and said, “This is to cover the change.”

The cashier accepted it. The person in front said thank you. They gathered their things and walked out.

And that could have been the end of the story. A quiet little kindness in a rushed world.

But please keep reading to find out what happens next.

The cashier took the remaining money from the $5 bill and placed it neatly off to the side of the register, like it was now on display at a museum.

And the person politely asked, “Are you going to give me my change?”

The cashier responded, “Well, you gave it away.”

And this is the exact moment where, if this were a sitcom, the background music would screech to a halt and everyone would slowly turn to the camera.

Because the reply was: “I gave 57 cents away to help them cover the remainder of their bill. I would like my change back.”

The cashier, now visibly annoyed and armed with full side-eye energy, handed back the dollars — minus the change.

And that’s where my brain blue-screened like an old desktop computer.

That’s where I got stuck.

When did we decide that generosity means you forfeit everything? When did we assume that people who give are people who don’t need? When did kindness become confused with entitlement?

I keep asking myself: Was the cashier right? Am I missing some new unspoken social rule? Was this some kind of kindness loophole I never learned about?

Or have we just gotten so used to protecting ourselves from being taken advantage of that we automatically assume the worst in someone’s intentions?

Because here’s what I saw in that story: Someone didn’t hesitate. Someone helped without performing it. Someone gave just what was needed — not more, not less. Someone showed up as human in a tiny, forgettable moment.

And somehow that turned into something complicated instead of something simple.

So tell me — have we come to a point where we don’t value the dollar — or the person giving it? Have we become so guarded that generosity feels suspicious? Are we reacting from protection instead of understanding?

Me to you:

I laughed when I heard this story. Not because it wasn’t kind — but because it felt like something straight out of a show where everyone freezes for a second and no one knows what the rules are anymore. Yet, they know something is off.

I don’t want to live in a world where kindness gets complicated. I don’t want to have to brace myself before offering help. I don’t want giving to feel like something that needs paperwork and clearance and proof of intent.

Maybe I’m naive. Maybe I’m old school. Maybe I’m missing something.

Or maybe — just maybe — we’re all craving a little more room to be human.

Now tell me what you think. Have you seen this? Felt this? Experienced something like it?

I really want to hear from you.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.