On a Saturday morning, a few suburbs away from home, I am shopping in a produce store piled with lush peaches, avocados, tomatoes, cheeses, breads, pastries, sauces, condiments, fruits and flowers. It is a place of plenitude. Affable aproned humans are ready to help find the pomegranate molasses and fresh figs my special-occasion-recipe requires. Trolleys are politely steered by people with well-shod feet. The atmosphere is attentive and restrained.
A small commotion at the open doorway of the store catches my attention. A short man in a pork-pie hat marches across the threshold. He carries a small back pack and steps with an uneven gait. He has a sure message, calling out a gamely, 'Good morning! Good morning everyone!' He looks about with purpose as he enters the shop.
The staff behind the bread counter recognise him and call out their own hello. He continues with the energy of someone on a mission. 'Good morning young lady. Good morning young man.' He nods as he addresses people.
Initially no one replies, but eventually he gets some muted acknowledgements from bemused customers. When he comes past me, emboldened by his energy, I call a robust 'Good morning'. He does not directly reply, and I wonder if I have overstepped the mark, displaying too much exuberance in the try-hard way that seems to piggy back onto my nice-church-girl upbringing.
The man in the pork-pie hat keeps up his call and meets my eye from across the store. No offence seems to have been taken. It's amazing how rattling just saying hello can be in a restrained environment. He tips his hat. It seems designed for doffing. The hat is neat and lightweight with a narrow brim and a dark hatband. When he has completed a lap of the store's perimeter he threads his way through the crowd and leaves, still calling out as he goes.
It is such a rare thing to be greeted in this way for a non-commercial purpose. It seems the man in the pork-pie hat regards it as a civic duty to say hello to people. I think he's onto something.
This suburb used to be home to many people who were 'different'. When I was a child, our family briefly rented a house on one of the main roads. Often at the shops or tram stops were people who startled my childhood sense of 'normal' with postures, sounds and gaits I found strange.
"Saying