Isolated Incident

So today, whilst on my way to a vinyl fair at the Black Cat today...okay, yeah, I'm a total white poseur. I basically accompanied Ryan, a true(r) vinyl connoisseur and collector, to a new/used record sale at this cool club on U-Street where Ian Mackaye was casually DJ-ing this afternoon. Bought one record while he cruised through, clearly experienced, and bought a bunch of stuff that all the musical Philistines have never heard of. It was actually a really interesting scene: all the basic music genres were accounted for, and with that brought a lot of different types of people (judging on face-value of course). I really dug it, and of course it was kind of sweet how Ian was sort of just doing his thing on a slightly elevated stage while everyone milled around looking at records.

But that's not what this blog post was actually supposed to be about; unfortunately I couldn't quite help but wax poetic at the incredible coolness that was this club on this day. It made me feel cool which in turn made me feel kind of fake. But again--not the point.

No. The point of this particular post is an isolated incident that occurred while waiting for the Yellow line at Gallery Place. We were sitting on the bench, not really talking much, sort of staring out into space when I saw a sort of portly, generally genial looking older man out of the corner of my eye. He reminded me of a city Santa Claus. He came to sit next to me. He was a little messy: work boots, dirty jeans, dirty shirt/jacket. He grinned at us, and we smiled back.
"Where are you from?" He sort of slurred it--or maybe that was an accent. I couldn't tell.
"You all from the here?" he continued.
"Virginia," Ryan said.
"Chicago," I added.
"Chicago!" the man exclaimed. "Oh, I was there once. I'm gonna tell you somethin' else." He paused, staring at me. I stared back.
"I used to work there," he said finally.
"Oh yeah?" I asked, half out of politeness, half out of genuine interest.
"Yeah," he said. "I liked it. D'you think I should go back?" he garbled.
"Yeah. I think it's a great city," I replied.
"Mm." He was farther away now. "Maybe," he seemed to ponder. "I'll never forget the day they told us, 'Let's go, lets go'..." He trailed off.
Not knowing how to respond to this vague memory, I said nothing. Studied my hands, and then looked back up at him. I didn't want him to think his remembrance was irrelevant.
"Do you know where Beloit is?" he asked suddenly.
"Yeah, I know Beloit."
"You do?!" He was shocked. I couldn't help but grin.
"Yeah," I repeated. "I do."
"Oh..." Then he mentioned another city in Wisconsin. And for the life of me, I can't remember it.
I replied that I didn't know what city that was.
"It's in Wisconsin," he clarified. "Saralee lives there. D'you know Saralee?"
"No," I said gently.
"Her father invented frozen foods. Invented them! There's a bunch of those bakeries up there..."
"Oh," I realized, "Sara Lee. I know Sara Lee" He meant the food corporation, not some long lost woman as I had previously romanticized.
"Yeah!" he grinned and nodded in camaraderie now; not only did I know Beloit, I knew Sara Lee too. He leaned over me, to include Ryan in the discussion.
"I don't wanna...I'll talk to you too--you know, Sara Lee?"
"Yeah," Ryan said.
The train was coming now. We stood up.
"You get all sorts a things in those packages," he continued, smiling brightly. "Roast beef, potatoes." He grinned brilliantly at the thought, his Santa face round with happiness.
We weren't getting on the same train car.
He smiled resignedly at us, and waved. We waved back.
We couldn't continue this conversation any longer. It wouldn't be the same as it was in those moments. In that moment.

Ryan and I didn't talk about it. Whether or not it was inconsequential to him, I don't know. But it might have been the happiest moment of my day. And maybe the saddest I've felt in a while.