Me and Julio Down At the Thrift Shop

For all intents and purposes, the man in the subject of this post is named Julio, not Jose as he told me, because after our romantic encounter at Value Village today I couldn't get the Paul Simon song out of my head.
So I'm on this search for something to wear to my cousin's wedding in a few weeks and have been having poor luck at the usual shopping places: Target, Old Navy, Macy's I checked out a few stores I don't normally shop, such as Kohl's, and had no luck there. So this afternoon I threw a pot roast in the crock pot for dinner and headed to the thrift store. Almost immediately upon entering, a very small Latino man started feigning shopping in the same sections as me. First it was women's sweaters, then jackets, then dresses. I found it difficult to believe Jose was shopping for dresses and young ladies' sweaters. First he eyed me a few times, then finally asked me my name.
“Courtney,” I said. Then, to be polite, said “What's yours?”
“Jose,” he said. Then I started having flash backs to Woody Allen's Love and Death when Diane Keaton is pretending to be Don Francisco's sister and keeps inflecting the “j” in Juanita and giving it a really hard, phlegmy sound.
I was also in awe of his teeth, or, to be more precise, his grill. I have seen my share of gold teeth, but never with a silver rim. They were fascinating. Everytime he opened is mouth, they glinted under the floursecent lights.
“Jose. That's . . . a nice name.” I didn't know what else to say.
“You already not been working today?” At least I think this is what he said. I had to ask him twice to repeat himself.
“Oh, no, I worked this morning. Six to eleven. Yeah . . . ”
I moved over to another section and a few moments later he came back over. This relationship was starting to get serious.
“You married?” he asked, nodding at my ring.
“Oh, yes. Almost six years,” I said.
At which point our new fling immediately turned around and walked away.
“You don't want to keep talking?” I called after him. He didn't reply.

So while my romance was short-lived, it was at least thrilling to be hit on in the middle of a thrift store on a Monday afternoon by a guy who barely spoke English.


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