During the holidays, we are often so rushed we forget to thank everyone who makes a difference in our life. We remember presents for family members, participate in gift exchanges at work and gladly contribute to the boss's gift fund. What about the people who serve us on a regular basis, those we barely give the time of day?

    When I think of people whose service makes my world better, the workers at the neighborhood coffee shop's drive-thru window come to mind--the ones who realize my left hand is a little weak and don't release their hold on the cup until my right hand is ready to take over.

    The smiling young woman, who prepares my drink before a meeting of my writing group, is another day brightener. Not only does she make a perfect decaf soy latté, she knows I can't read the tiny writing on the glass canister holding the biscotti and patiently points to my favorite--cranberry white chocolate. Best of all, she never hesitates to save a salad for my lunch.

    My first job was at a Minneapolis hospital. Too young for real employment, I signed up to work as a candy striper. I pictured myself in the cute uniform (starched red and white striped jumper and white Peter Pan collared blouse) delivering flowers and cheery greetings to patients young and old. I had read books about Florence Nightingale and knew this could be the start of my own calling as a nurse. I envisioned myself holding the hand of a sick child, giving the youngster courage to face surgery, like the tonsillectomy I'd had as a child. I saw myself placing a cool wash cloth on the forehead of a feverish patient, lowering their temperature with well-chosen words. I would light up the faces of the infirm.

    Alas, I was never allowed near the patients. My (volunteer) services were needed as a waitress in the hospital's first floor coffee shop. All summer, I took orders for scrambled eggs and tuna salad, and delivered sandwiches and chips to tables of doctors and nurses and the family members of patients. I quickly learned how serious sickness is. Everyone was deep in conversation, discussing Aunt Tillie's latest diagnosis or a cutting edge article in a recent medical journal, too engrossed to notice me. In fact, I was so invisible I never even received a tip.

    Years later, when I worked as a waitress at Bridgman's on Lake Street, I was reminded of the thanklessness of the profession. The night I didn't earn enough tip money to cover my bus fare, I called my husband for a ride home and rethought my career choice.

    Memory is a funny thing, though. When the manager of a local coffee shop asked if I would like a job, she assured me it would be fun, a chance to visit with regular customers and earn some extra moola. The tips weren't bad, but in the five weeks I spent making fancy coffee drinks, I was too busy to chat with anyone but myself.

    Until you work behind a counter or wait on tables, you have no idea how difficult these jobs are. Go ahead-make someone's day. Don't wait for a holiday to offer a heartfelt, "Thank you," to the next person who places a cup of coffee in your hand or slides a plate of food in front of you. The smile you put on their face is sure to make you feel good. Think of what a little extra in the tip jar could do for you.