Where Shopping is a Pleasure

There is a homeless man at my Publix.

Don't get me wrong, he doesn't live there. There aren't any signs of habitation outside, but it seems to be a favorite hang-out spot of his.

I first encountered said homeless man--to make things a little easier, let's call him Hank-- I first encountered Hank as I was running into Publix before a fraternity semi-formal. My legs were shaved, I was wearing heels, I'd donned a dress, and had painstakingly applied my make-up for the occasion.

But more importantly, I had curled my hair.

It was about 6:00 p.m. when I made it to Publix's automatic doors and saw Hank sitting there in what was either a wheelchair or stolen electronic shopping cart that had bags hanging from it. My bet was on shopping cart; I hadn't ever seen a wheelchair quite that design. His scraggly gray hair hung past his chin and even from a distance it was clear that he was unwashed.

My heels clicked against the pavement in a frenzied clip-clop. I was running very late, but still needed to grab a snack since chances were my finicky tastes wouldn't be allowing me to eat anything there.

Hank's voice stopped me. "Ah like yer hay-ur."

I looked at him curiously. "Thank you?" I had a tendency to be awkwardly polite even when cheering for my school's football team. I hurried inside and away, and exited through the other doors.

I had several other encounters with Hank. He liked my "hay-ur" every time, whether it was, up, down, styled, natural, attractive, or unattractive. Gradually, I realized that Hank liked everyone's hair, as I heard them receive the same compliments.

I figured out that he had some semblance of a schedule. I learned to do a drive-by of the entrances to pick which one I'd go into if I wasn't particularly in the mood for his praise. If I made it to Publix before four o'clock, he was nowhere to be seen. Afterwards, he'd appear, doing nothing more than complimenting the various 'dos he saw passing him.

It therefore amused me greatly when I was paused, the other day, at a red light. This particular intersection happened to put me right next to the Publix plaza, and I couldn't help a startled laugh as I recognized a familiar figure whirring his way across the street in his cart. I looked at the clock. 3:56. Right on schedule.


Ride on, Hank. Ride on.


Jenuinely yours,
Jen