The man strolled along the grocery aisles.

His wife pushed the shopping cart in another aisle. She did the real work of grocery shopping. She kept to the list. She ensured there would be food for dinners, lunch meats, snacks, shampoos, soaps, laundry detergent, colas, etc.

The man mostly strolled the aisles looking for additional snacks such as biscuit-and-gravy potato chips, or the unexpected John Wayne tribute edition in the magazine racks or a new flavor of beer.

As he found each item, like a true hunter-gatherer, the man searched for his wife, placed the item in the cart while ignoring the rolling of her eyes, then he ambled off to hunt again.

He kept to himself. He kept his eyes on the shelves.

The man forgot his wife was not with him and he started talking to her though he was only talking to the family-sized box of Frosted Flakes. Tony the Tiger did not talk back unless the man offered his Tony the Tiger impersonation. “They’re Great!” rolled off his tongue.

He ignored other customers. They often gave him a sidewise look as he appeared to have a conversation with Tony the Tiger, or as he sung the piped-in music playing throughout the grocery store.

He usually ignored the music. Background music appropriately kept in the background.

Sometime, the song shattered the subconscious. Duran Duran’s refrain of “Hungry like the wolf” emerged from the background to the foreground and the line echoed from the store’s speakers to the man’s lips.

“Hungry like the wolf …”

Pretty appropriate while prowling the grocery store aisles.

“Hungry like the wolf …” he sung then laughed.

The music faded to the background again. The man wondered if he could impersonate Cap’n Crunch’s voice from the 1970s cartoon commercials.

Then it happened.

A song burst from the background, full blown into his conscious thoughts. A song he hadn’t heard in years.

Al Stewart’s “Time Passages.”

Not a favorite song. Not a song the man would seek out. He hadn’t even realized it had been years since he’d heard the song until he heard the song. He had forgotten the song and Al Stewart even existed until he heard it from the speaker above the deodorant aisle.

“It was late in December, the sky turned to snow

All round the day was going down slow …

Time passages

Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.”

The song struck a chord. For whatever reason, it pulled some nostalgic feel-good string and had the man singing along.

“Well, I’m not the kind to live in the past / The years run …”

BING: “John, you’re needed on register 3. John, register 3.” CLICK.

Of all songs to interrupt with the store intercom, the man thought. The song returned; the man sang softly along.

“Time passages

There’s something back here that you left behind

Oh time pass…”

BING: “Shoppers, don’t forget to sign up for our value card. Available at each register. We value you. You’ll value our card …”

There was no click. The intercom recording ended but it did not switch back to the music. The speakers emitted a slight hummmmmmmmmmm. But no Al Stewart. No “Time Passages.”

Undaunted, though irritated, the man sung the song anyway. He increased the volume of his voice. He hoped someone might take the hint. Maybe some store employee would restore the sound before too much time passed and “Time Passages” had passed on.

The man kept singing but without the reference of Al Stewart singing, the man could not recall the lyrics. So he did the best he could to the appropriate tune.

“Hear the bellows and feel yourself starting to burn

Don’t know who’s Bill

But it’s his turn.

It’s a shame he can’t pay …

“Time passages … Fly me a ticket on the fast plane home, all right.”

He sung at the top of his lungs. He noticed his wife maneuvering the shopping buggy toward him. Confirming he was not yelling in pain, the wife turned her buggy away from him in a manner that suggested she did not know the singing man.

One stocking clerk clapped a sad pat, pat, pat of applause.

The man sighed, deflated and gave the stocker his best Elvis slur: “Thank ya, thank ya very much.”

The store speakers clicked on. Al Stewart was gone, replaced by Eddy Grant, who’s “gonna rock down to Electric Avenue.”

The man strolled silently along in search for his wife to see if she was ready to go, or maybe he’d just go outside and wait in the car.

Dean Poling is an editor with The Valdosta Daily Times.