"You’re not on our team," she said, surprised.

End of story. If you’d like a for Jumbo (in Dutch or English) instead of a story, just let me know.

"Dear Jumbo team," he wrote. "You probably don’t remember me. I’m the tall boy with the blue backpack who always buys an ice cream at the self-checkout. But today, I helped clean up a jar of appelstroop before anyone slipped. I didn’t do it for a discount. I did it because I see how your team works: fast, friendly, and without drama. I want to be part of that rhythm. I’m available after school and all day Saturday. Give me a broom, a scanner, or a cheese slicer—I’ll learn. I’m Sem, 17, and I live three streets away. My mother says I’m stubborn. I call it dedicated."

Every Saturday morning, 17-year-old Sem de Vries walked the same route through Jumbo supermarket in Eindhoven. He’d grab a cart, follow his mother’s list, and quietly observe the chaos behind the cheerful red logo. He watched cashiers who still smiled after four hours of beeping scanners. He saw shelf-stockers who knew exactly where the hagelslag belonged, even with their eyes closed.

One rainy afternoon, a little girl dropped a jar of appelstroop. It shattered near the bakery section. The nearest employee was unloading a pallet of croissants. Without thinking, Sem knelt down, waved to a passing employee for a "cleanup needed" sign, and carefully guided the crying girl away from the glass. When the store manager, mevrouw De Wit, arrived, the mess was already contained.

That evening, Sem opened his laptop and wrote his story. Not as a formal letter, but as a continuation of that moment.

"No," Sem replied. "But I’d like to be."