Three people in particular.
–The person on the fourth floor who was baking cookies as I went from that elevator to the garage last week. Even if they were trying to use the smell to sell their apartment despite the fact this building is rental apartments and not condo apartments, I wish them luck in their deliciously illegal sale.
–The Irish priest at Ash Wednesday Mass, for suggesting in his homily spoken to the parish schoolchildren and gathered Arlington residents — but mostly aimed toward the schoolchildren — that they skip an expensive meal and donate the money saved by having a cheaper meal instead up the street at the Silver Diner or O’Sullivan’s, “used to be called Molly Malone’s,” both of them Irish pubs. This very much amused me at the time, but it turns out they have food in addition to beer.
–The check-out kid at Giant last night. Swiping my three half-gallons of milk, he says, “That’s the best milk.” This comment led into a whole conversation about milk, which was impressive. Not old enough yet to sell alcohol without a manager coming over to approve it, not experience enough to have developed a style for saying hello, swiping items or sliding the grocery dividers back along the rail, he took the opportunity to work from what he knew. Milk.