Dave’s Market

Saturday, 5 December 2009

Just about every Saturday morn­ing, ear­ly, I take Abraham to Dave’s to do the week­ly gro­cery shop­ping. Just about every Saturday morn­ing, Dave him­self is there, and nev­er fails to greet the kid and I with a nice word and a smile. It isn’t re­al­ly Dave Saltzman in the flesh [that would be gross]. The man­ager just hap­pens to be named Dave. I’m pret­ty sure he rec­og­nizes me, since not very many peo­ple are at the gro­cery store on a reg­u­lar ba­sis be­fore 9am on the week­end. I like the guy.

Though he’s not the Dave, I think he prob­a­bly feels as if the store is his, even more so than oth­er man­agers be­cause it car­ries his name. There’s no log­ic be­hind that kind of feel­ing, but I can tell that this Dave is proud to run his store well, and hap­py to be feed­ing fam­i­lies in this neck of the woods.

Cleveland is a small-town city.