Sticky fridge

In the chill of New Year’s Eve, I greet a man standing at the CVS corner, asking for change. Briefly, he reminds me of Charlie whom I hadn’t seen for awhile. Charlie was in charge of keeping our office section clean. He’d come round every morning and check the shared kitchen. I knew him well enough by sight, but it was late summer when we bonded over the stinky fridge. The communal refrigerator, repository of home-packed lunches and other delicacies, is a great convenience. But, as it turns July and August, people take their vacations, forgetting the epicurean morsels left in the icebox. An odor developed, it was a health risk to all of us not on holiday, and I raised the alarm. Charlie came to the rescue and together we conquered the fridge. We were friendly after that. I went on academic leave for awhile, when I returned, there was a new fellow on the floor. I assumed Charlie had retired. The other day, I saw the same man at CVS and, again I thought, it’s not Charlie.