The Regulars

For many, many years in the shopping center in my neighborhood was a family owned drug store. It carried everything you could imagine including an interesting makeup section. I was working at a women’s clothing store around the corner when a customer told me about a moisturizer they carried. “It’s made by a small company and nobody else in town carries it. It’s a steal at $25 – go get yourself some. You won’t regret it.” That’s how I got to know the manager of the cosmetics department who gave me the details of that product along with many others that they carried. At night an older woman took over that section. She was close to 90, still worked full-time, and always the later shift because she was a night owl. “Soon as I get off here, honey,” she said to me one night, “I head home, stop at QuikTrip and get myself a nice big soda, and then do my crossword puzzles.” If you lived close by (they checked your license) and were sick the pharmacists would fill one bottle a year of cough syrup with codeine without a prescription. It was quite the perk.

Several years ago and in what seemed abruptly, the drug store closed. At the time I was working at an art museum and was talking to the gift shop manager about it. She told me that she worked there with the manager I had gotten to know and that they both started in high school. “She never left that job,” she told me, “it’s the only place she has ever worked.”

Last month a grocery store nearby announced that it would be closing. I used to go there all the time and was familiar with many of the employees. There was a bagger who had been there for years who hated bagging. One time when I was checking out he said that he had to go in the parking lot to corral carts. The cashier said to him, “No you’re not. You just did that. You’re going to stay here and bag this lady’s groceries,” which made him furious. There was another cashier who nearly always worked the express checkout near the front door and talked to every person who walked through. Her greetings were so genuine that you couldn’t help but immediately like her and look forward to seeing her. She died suddenly and you could feel the sadness of her coworkers for months. Her death made the local news, her photograph was displayed near the register she always worked, and a donation fund was set up for her surviving son.

After the store made the announcement that they were closing I stopped in twice. The butchers were mostly absent and there were no stockers cutting open boxes and filling the shelves. It had the feel of a place whose time had passed. At the same time a clothing store I loved announced that they were closing. I had shopped there many times – mostly when things were on sale as it was expensive. I was familiar with a few of the people who worked there. I talked to one of the sales associates about it, how closing a store could be emotional as customers come to pay their condolences as much as shop the deals. At some point you just want it to be over.

At work our usual mailman hasn’t been doing the route and everyone wants to know if he has been replaced. The new guy has no idea. The dropoff of packages from the UPS man are completely different when our regular guy is on vacation. I love our mailman at the house – he is so friendly, looks like he could be in ZZ Top, and who I am leery of being replaced. The butchers at the grocery store nearby ask, “Chicken again,” when I walk up to the counter. Michael said that when he goes to the coffee shop in his building they start filling his order when they see him coming.

I’ve been walking in the park earlier than usual and have recently come across an older woman using a walker as she traverses the path. As it has gotten a bit cooler in the morning, she is there wearing long pants, a sweatshirt, and knit cap on her head. The other day I started talking to her. She told me where she lived, that she and her husband bought the house she’s been in for decades because it was within walking distance of the Catholic school her son went to. He was afraid of the bus so they fixed that problem by moving close enough that he never needed to ride a school bus again. “I decided I needed to start moving more,” she told me, “so every day I’m trying to make it over here and am meeting the nicest people.” “Oh yes,” I told her. “I’ve been walking this park for years and there are lots of regulars here.”

Seeing her these past two weeks has been the highlight of my mornings because she reminds me so much of my mom who used to walk several times a day. I want to tell her that but I also don’t want to scare her off so I head out, hope I run into her, and wish on the morning sun that the other regulars in my life whose brief and steady presence I took for granted have all landed on their feet.