Me and Mr. Presley

It's my second to last night at Park N Shop, and I'm impatiently counting down the minutes until I get to leave. 8:50 p.m. and the store is completely empty. Brian is standing beside me, one arm leaning against the register. My back is to my register and my mouth is gaping open, wishing that Kim would just let us go home. But she doesn't.

And the clock turns 8:51 p.m.

I start to fidget with the lottery ticket that Bob gave me two hours before--of course I didn't win; I never win--when "Pretty Woman" comes over the speakers.

A good song at Park N Shop is like a mini oasis from boredom. I've learned to better appreciate music because of the speakers at Park N Shop. Now when I hear a good song on the radio, I'm elated. When I hear a bad song, well, time goes by even slower.

So, I hum to the tune and reach for the spray bottle to spray down my lane. I hear the automatic doors swing open down the way and roll my eyes. Another customer. Sure enough it is, a man in an "OPERATION: IRAQI FREEDOM" t-shirt pushing a cart. Never a good sign when it's near closing time.

Bryan shakes his head and keeps staring at the clock. I'm still humming "won't you pardon me, pretty woman, I couldn't help but see, pretty woman..." when there he is. A man with slicked back shoe-polish black hair and two sideburns that resemble landing strips. He struts in with a Hawaiian shirt and an over-the-hill kind of suave air about him.

I want to laugh. Elvis has entered the building, 5 minutes before Park N Shop is scheduled to close.

Bryan and I watch him as he walks past lanes and toward the produce section. Once he is out of sight, I start giggling. "Did you see--?"

"Yeah," says Bryan, his eyebrows raised. "And can you believe the song over the speakers?"

I shake my head. Out of all the years I've been at Park N Shop and the strangest person in the world has to walk in on the day before I'm leaving. Oh the irony.

Anyway, Elvis eventually finds his groceries and (as I was the only checker on the floor) comes through my lane. I am smiling from ear to ear as he pulls out his leather billfold and looks through his bills.

Ask him! Ask him! I keep thinking to myself. My smile gets even bigger and I had to suppress a laugh when I say, "Uh, can I ask you a question?"

He smirks and closes the wallet. "Go for it."

I swallow as I scan his iceberg lettuce. "Are you--"

(I want to ask him if he is really Elvis and if he'd just come back to life to grace us with his presence as one of his most famous songs blared over the speakers. But I know that isn't true, and I also know that I am in dire need of some sleep in order to regain my sanity. So, I instead ask--)

"Are you Steve Davis?"

(Steve Davis = famous Saint Louis-area Elvis impersonator that nearly 3.3 million people have heard about. He is featured at many country clubs and 80-plus year old's birthday parties.)

He almost rolls his eyes as he says, "Well, yes I am."

An even bigger grin spreads across my face. "Oh!" I said.

"(Oh!" As if I've never met Bill Clinton, Bob Dole, Anthony Edwards, John McCain, Ron Paul, Jim Ryun, Don Piper, Francine Rivers, Sam Beam, and scads of other equally if not more famous people than said Elvis impersonator.)

He gives me a strange look. "Was that your question?"

I stare for a moment. "Actually, yeah."

"Oh," he said. We stare at one another for a while. It is rather awkward.

"Well, have a nice day!" I say.

(By this time, I am really hoping that he would give me a "thank ya, thank ya very much" and one of those famous winks with the finger gun pointing at me but instead I got--)

"Uh, thanks. You too."

I have a couple baskets to put away so I follow him to the door. He looks behind and sees me staring at his Hawaiian print shirt. I think that creeped him out even more, because he takes off walking faster.

In the end I return to my register to lean with Bryan and wait for time to move faster. 8:59 p.m. But at least I've now met myself a Mr. Presley.