Getting to Know the Regulars

Dear Diary:

My roommate and I have finally become “regulars” at our corner bodega. When I walk in, I’m greeted with a smile and a familiar “How you doin,’ boss?”

“What’s the etiquette,” my roommate asks one Thursday, “on trying to find out their names, since we sort of ‘know’ them now?”

Saturday morning, I’m in bed with my girlfriend when I hear my roommate come back. The clock blinks “7:03.” I open my door to see one of the guys from the bodega following him. They’re brown-bagging and have apparently been drinking on the corner since 6 a.m. He introduces himself as Omar.

“Who was that?” my girlfriend asks.

“Omar. He works at our bodega.”

We both try to fall back asleep, but the sour smell of marijuana and clanking of beers emanates from the living room. Omar and my roommate have a long, extremely intimate conversation about whom they voted for, their rent, their sexual preference and Omar’s 7-year-old daughter. Once the clock hits 9, I put on a shirt and get ready to go into the office. I say hello to Omar, toothbrush in mouth, and then head uptown with my girlfriend.

Sunday night I’m with my roommate.

“Glad you got to hang out with Omar, especially since you were just talking about asking the bodega guys their names.”

“Yeah.”

We haven’t seen Omar at the bodega since. I often wonder how he and his daughter are doing.

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