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The Woman Who Smiled

She was on her way to work. It was 7 a.m. – early, but she liked early and she liked her job. She was happy. But she was not smiling. Because not-smiling happens sometimes.

‘Adult round-trip, please,’ she said sliding her money through the gap in the glass to the ticket seller.

He looked up at her and smiled. ‘Cheer up, love,’ he said, taking the money.

‘Excuse me?’‘Cheer up!’ he laughed. ‘It can’t be that bad.’She looked around to see if anybody had heard. The man

behind her was wearing earphones and was focusing on his wallet, but he wasn’t smiling either.

‘Um . . . okay,’ she said, confused. She frowned, then stopped herself, taking her ticket and stepping away. She watched as the non-smiling man who was next in line placed his money down on the counter. The ticket seller said nothing

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to him. They exchanged the money for the ticket without any demands as to how he should fix his non-smiling face.

She waited on the platform, feeling a little confused as to how to control her face, unsettled by the fact that she had essentially been monitored and directed to do so by a stranger. She wasn’t unhappy. Why had a stranger asked her to smile? She studied her reflection in the window of the train station, and analysed herself in a thousand different ways. No, she did not look miserable. She looked normal, just like all the other men and women who stood on the platform with her.

Once off the train, she stopped at a shop on her way to the office to buy a chocolate bar for lunch. She was in the mood for a treat today.

‘Smile, love, it might never happen,’ the shopkeeper said with a wink.

Again she paused. ‘Excuse me?’‘It might never happen!’ he repeated, chuckling.‘What might never happen?’‘Ah it’s just an expression!’ he nodded.‘I’m not unhappy,’ she told him, confused.‘Okay, okay,’ he raised his hands. ‘Whatever you say.’ He

nodded over her shoulder to the customer behind her to dismiss her, all business again, and she stepped to the side. She studied the next customer, an older man. He was not smiling either. They didn’t talk. He paid for and left with his newspaper. It was a fast and uncomplicated exchange. The man was not forced to analyse himself or his face by a stranger in a shop.

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‘Can I help you?’ the shop owner asked, noticing her staring.

‘Why didn’t you tell him to cheer up?’‘Who?’‘Him?’He looked at the door, then frowned as though she was

crazy. ‘Look, a pretty girl like you shouldn’t look so  .  .  .’ He made a cartoon grumpy face.

‘But I wasn’t making that face,’ she said.‘Yes you were, I saw you.’‘And it bothers you because I’m pretty?’‘Me?’ he got defensive. ‘Makes no difference to me.’‘Do you like asking strangers to smile on demand?’ she

asked.‘Ah, go on,’ he nodded at the door for her to leave, not

liking her attitude, ‘we’re finished here.’Fuming, she left the shop.The following day she returned to the train station. She

bought her ticket. The ticket seller looked up at her.She donned her comedy glasses and moustache, and stuck

a party blower in her mouth. She blew it so hard, the horn blasted, the foil uncoiled itself and smacked against the glass that separated them. She gave him jazz hands.

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms, not at all impressed.

Back at the shop, she stood in line. When she reached the till, the shopkeeper recognized her.

Red lipstick in hand, she took her time drawing an enormous

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and messy clown-like smile, which reached the dimples in her cheeks. She placed a red clown nose over her own, pressed play on her iPod and circus music began. She proceeded to dance around his shop to the clown music while he and the customers watched. She picked up three oranges and began juggling.

Finally she finished with a ‘Ta-da!’There was silence.‘There, do you feel better? Am I prettier now?’ she asked,

breathless.The shopkeeper didn’t smile.But she did.

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