Just a sunny week or so ago, with my head in the clouds I shuffled from the woman’s section of Value Village heading to the mens pant department, rack. There in the middle of where the bahama shirts and Cosby sweaters meet in some outlandish attic-throw-away-bottleneck, stood an oddly tall man yelling “Who sings this song” as a question to the four or five lonely men idling over the idea of buying Paco Jeans. My path was bringing up the rear, and like the rest of the men in front of me I had no business answering this mans question. Working my way quietly through the blazer jackets I entered the pants department, rack. Personally, I never find anything there, well maybe once or twice. The oddly tall man found me, finding nothing. Looking down at me from across the pants rack he suddenly yelled,
“What song is that?”
“I don’t know” I said nervously, as all of the men now behind the oddly tall man looked on at me, with a sort of gleeful appreciation.
Quickly he boomed, “I hear a voice, and that voice sounds like Stevie Nicks, that tells me that it must be Fleetwood Mac.”
Quietly now, we stared at each other oafishly.