My brother-in-law was visiting from out of state over the Christmas holiday. Instead of going out to dinner this year, it was decided that I would make a nice sancocho and we would have dinner at my house. On the way home from work I stopped off at a Spanish supermarket to pick up the vegetables and maybe the short ribs - depending on how they looked.
Well the ribs weren't that great, but the vegetables looked fine, so I selected a load, packed them into the toddler seat of my shopping cart and was about ready to leave. I considered that I had probably an hour drive home with all the traffic, and so I decided to visit the restroom first. I parked my shopping cart at the rear of the produce department and walked toward the back room where the restrooms are. A sixty-ish short skinny white man with loafers, slacks, and a T-shirt tucked in, preceded me, and we greeted one another (I was in my uniform and people tend to notice me more, hence the mutual greeting). I perceived the man was homeless/vagrant/transient (whatever you want to call it) based on his general appearance: tanned, leathery hide and rough shave, etc. He entered the men's room first and I followed. It was a smallish place, with one stall, two urinals hanging on the wall, and one sink. There was a crowd: the stall was occupied, one guy was washing his hands, another guy was peeing into one of the urinals, and the urinal furthest from the stall was available. I looked at my skinny friend and he was clearly not interested in the urinal. He exclaimed, "Aw, man, every time I want to use the restroom it's taken!" His tone was good-natured enough, and the guy on the crapper laughed and replied, "Sorry, I'll be done in a minute." He sounded like maybe thirties or forties. White. Maybe Brooklyn. I took the available urinal and unzipped. The guy at the sink walked out and the one to my left finished up and went to the sink. (I noted, interestingly, the air was not really foul at all, but I mostly held my breath anyway, breathing as little as possible, out of principle.) Now here's where the craziness really took off.
The grocery store music was exceedingly loud and they piped it into the restroom as well, making it even louder. This was a Spanish supermarket but they played an English-speaking radio station and The Supremes’ version of “My Favorite Things” was blasting from overhead. Then the two men spoke again. They were apparently acquainted, although neither could see the other. The guy in the stall asked Skinny Guy in Spanish, "How have you been?" Skinny Guy replied, "Good. Good." The skinny guy said something else in Spanish to the guy in the stall and the guy in the stall agreed. There was a pause, and then crapper guy began singing along with the music. Not real loud, pretty much to himself. "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Hum-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm. Hm-hm-hm-hm.................................. These are a few of my favorite things."
I finished up and moved over to the sink. I glanced over at skinny guy, still standing over in the corner, and again greeted him.
"How are you sir?"
"Good, thank you."
I washed and dried my hands as the guy in the stall continued. "When the dog bites. When the bee stings. When I'm feeling sad......."
A hobo, a cop, and a mystery singer sharing a moment.
I walked out, grabbed my shopping cart, left the short ribs, and proceeded to the checkout.
Bizarre.
