Last Friday Elaine and I took our weekly journey to Trader Joe's, which we ostensibly do to stock up on groceries but honestly I just go for all the attention. I know a lot of the people close to me are probably sick to death of hearing me carry on about what it's like to cruise through a grocery store with a cart that has a baby sticking out of it -- particularly if that baby happens to be Elaine -- but honestly. My face starts to have muscle spasms from all the smiling, and we have caused actual cart-traffic jams thanks to people swerving around to get a better look at her. There are employees who recognize her and consistently acknowledge her from week to week, and even though I stand there and idiotically thank them for all the compliments they give her, I'll bet you anything if you asked any of them "Was that baby's mother nude when they came in last week?" or "Does that baby's mother have a wooden head?" they wouldn't have the slightest idea. They have their own rapport with Elaine.
Anyway, back to last Friday. We had just gotten in line to check out, both of us flushed and slightly tousled from the sea of admiration we'd been wallowing in, when I became vaguely aware of a man starting to shout nearby, but I didn't look. Then I heard the man say, "I want to be a part of it," and though there was no particular tune attached to his announcement, the familiarity of the words made me turn my head. A few yards away from me, a groomed 70-ish man stood behind a walker, wearing a periwinkle blue cardigan, a strand of huge wooden beads, and reading glasses. And pants. He was intent on several stapled pages of photocopied sheet music that he was holding. "These vagabond shoes … are longing to stray …."
I glanced around and could see that I wasn't the only one making up my mind about how to react. We've all always been taught that it's rude to stare, but this man seemed to be, well, performing. He was shouting, and had chosen a spot in the store where he basically had a captive audience of all the customers who were standing in (the always exasperatingly long) line(s). Clearly most of us had decided it would be rude
not to stare. Another mom with a baby had stopped her cart nearby and they both watched, smiling. The checkers continued their work, but most of them were grinning. Elaine was on my hip, and we started bopping around a little bit, since
dancing is one of her favorite activities these days.
Most people had more or less stopped talking, and by the time the man hollered, "It's up to you -- New York, NEW YORK!!" he had a full-on audience. And the best part was, when he turned his last page, signaling the end of the show, everyone applauded. It was awesome. He didn't smile. He flipped off his reading glasses, yelled, "Thanks," and wheeled straight through the crowd (banging into a few people) and out the door.
Currently rated 5.0 by 1 people
- Currently 5/5 Stars.
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5