The Whistler

I always knew it was him.
I would hear him long before I saw the aisle on which he was working.
One thing always gave it away.
One sound was his trademark.

He whistled.
He whistled all the time.
He was the paradigm for the Whistle While You Work song that I remembered as a child.
It was a pleasure to run into him each week.

He was always so kind to my children.
I never saw him stand still.
His shelves and displays were impeccable.
Any vendor that came into the grocery store asked to speak to him.

I remember the day I told him that I liked to hear him whistle.
He seemed surprised.
Not because I told him so, but rather because he whistled.
It was so much a part of him, he truly did not know he was doing it.

It reminded me of the people who stick their tongue out when they write or draw.
It reminded me of the people who run their fingers through their hair when they think.
It reminded me of the people who tap a pen or pencil on a desk without notice.
It reminded me of the people who hum all the time.

I found the sound of his whistling refreshing and welcome.
My younger children always began to giggle when we heard him.
He’s so happy, one of my children said on one of our shopping trips.
That was a perfect description of our favorite whistler.

On the day I told him that I enjoyed hearing him whistle, he wondered why.
Because my husband whistles, I said.
I would see my husband whistling as he was on the tractor cutting the grass.
In fact to this day, my husband still whistles but does not realize he is doing it.

The grocery store where I always saw the whistler closed many years ago.
It was a privately owned, family grocery store.
One of the larger grocery chains bought the small store.
I was sad to see the store close and knew that I would miss many of the employees.

I hoped I would see some of the former employees at another local store but I never did.
An end of an era, I remember thinking.
The small markets could not compete with the larger grocery chains.
Then one day, many years later, I recognized him.

I saw the whistler from a distance; he was stocking shelves in another store.
He was working for one of the vendors that he dealt with all those years ago.
He was still working hard; he still never slowed down for a minute.
Something was different about him.

He was not whistling.
Years had passed but they did not seem to have been kind to him.
He looked like life had beaten him down.
He was still the hard worker he had always been but the whistling was silenced.

I knew that I would never know what had happened in the years since I saw him.
I knew the description of him given by my children no longer seemed to apply.
I walked up to him and said, hello.
He smiled, though his smile was forced as if he told his face to produce it.

Gone was the easy smile that used to grace his face.
Gone was the happy banter that he shared with his customers.
Gone was the joy he seemed to derive from his work.
Gone was the sound of his whistling.

I was so sad as I walked away.
I would never know what took place in the years since I saw him.
Life had beaten him down.
Whether he was beaten down by choices or circumstances, my heart hurt.

There is nothing better for man than to eat, drink, and enjoy his work. I have seen that even this is from God’s hand. (Ecclesiastes 2:24)

From time to time, I continued to see the man who used to whistle in various stores.
I would always say, hello, to him.
Sometimes he looked as if he wanted to fall into a hole so as not to be recognized.
I would never linger; I just let him go about his work.

One day, I was grocery shopping and thought that I saw him.
He was too far away from me to be sure.
I went to another store that same day and saw him again.
He went from store to store stocking the shelves with his product.

I decided on that day that I would stop and talk a bit.
We talked about the old family run store.
We talked about the closing.
We talked about his employment when he discovered that he would be out of a job.

He was always a man of integrity.
His customers meant the world to him.
He wanted to serve them well.
The family owned grocery store, with a worker like him, were going the way of the dinosaur.

You will never be a man without a job, I told him.
You were always a hard worker; you still are, I reminded him.
Thanks, girl, he said with a crooked smile.
I walked towards the cash registers and heard that familiar sound.

He was whistling.