“10 years ago, there was this tiny old man who used to come through the liquor store drive-thru every other day. He never looked at me. Never smiled. Just handed me cash and said he wanted a six-pack of Natty.
And y’all, if you know me… you know that drove me CRAZY. Because I wanted everyone to be my homie.
So I started telling him jokes. Every day. The dumbest, corniest jokes my other regulars gave me. He never laughed. Never said yes or no. Just shook his head and asked if I’d please stop holding his beer hostage. I told him someday, somehow, I’d make him smile.
Fast-forward TWO YEARS of this little back-and-forth… and one day he throws something at me. A t-shirt. It said “BEER ANGEL.” Y’all, my life was made.
After that, things shifted. He started warming up. He’d bring me little random gifts—like a cow figurine lifting weights. Or a candle he found by his trash. One time it was a Playboy because “he liked the girl’s earrings.” (I still have it on my shelf, because I have never heard anyone laugh so hard in my life.)
Six years into this weird friendship, he handed me his debit card and a grocery list. Said if I’d grab him some things, I could spend $20 on myself. He was on oxygen and could barely make it to the door anymore. My heart just about burst.
Eventually, I became his unofficial barber. Every few weeks, I’d swing by, bring lottery tickets, and cut his hair while he worked on a crossword. He was so tiny, so frail, but so dang funny without even trying.
One day, he called me “Kate.” I froze. My family calls me Kate. No one else does. He smirked and said, “Wait… your name is Kate??? I thought it was Butthole.”
A haircut later, he handed me a check—and signed it “Kate.” I cried in my car that day.
The last time I saw him, he called me “sweetheart.” I told him I preferred “butthole.” He laughed, and that was the last time I heard it.
A couple weeks later, I drove to Dexter for his funeral. Tiny graveside service. Just a handful of people. I stood awkwardly to the side, bawling, convinced everyone thought I was a weirdo. And then one by one, they all came up to me and said—
“You must be Kate. He talked about you all the time.”
I haven’t seen Pete in a year now. But Violet and I still talk about him often.
So here’s what I want to leave you with:
Please. Be kind to people. Obnoxiously kind. Annoyingly kind. Insanely kind.
Because you never know when you’ll be someone’s only “Beer Angel.” 🍻
*** Katie Sawyer ***