A few nights ago, I stopped by the supermarket after work, to pick up a few essentials. In the dairy section, I saw a gangly kid, about 16 or so, shopping with his mother. He looked like he’d rather be anyplace else, with anyone else. He looked pretty miserable.
I noticed that he had on a ragged and worn Ramones tour shirt; it may well have been vintage, and barely fit him. I smiled to myself, because I remembered shopping trips like that, and because I was glad to see a kid from his generation who was obviously looking back upstream.
A little while later, I ran into the kid again, on the bread aisle. He was pushing the shopping cart, and his mom was not around. As we passed, I caught his eye with a jerk of my chin, pointed to his shirt and said, “Gabba gabba hey.”
His perpetual scowl broke for a second. There was a flash of confusion that said, “Why is this dressed-up old guy talking to me?” Then, as comprehension settled in, his face split into a wide grin, and all of his tension left him for just a second.
He nodded back, looked me in the eye, and said, “Awright!” As we passed each other, the connection was broken, and I saw his stoicism settle back over him like a blanket. I hope I made his situation a little more bearable.
I grinned all the way home.
