The thing about Northfield is that you see everyone everywhere. I saw my city councilman at the coffeeshop on Wednesday morning, and a prominent city mover-and-shaker in the locker room at the Carleton gym that afternoon. On even the shortest walk downtown, I'll cross paths with a half-dozen faculty or staff.
Never knowing whom I will encounter, you might think I take care to not, you know, look like a bum when I'm out and about. Most of the time, I do. This evening, though, not so much. After a run in the Arb, I headed to the downtown grocery store for a few things. I was sweaty, my hair was sticking straight up from the humidity, my legs were muddy from the trail, my shoes are old and filthy, and I was wearing a windvest in a cut and color that were au courant in about 1999 - about five years before I wiped out while roller-skiing and tore a series of holes in the front. In short, I was looking great.
Inevitably, I almost immediately ran into a colleague from campus - right after I threw some on-sale junk food atop five pounds worth of fresh fruit. Perfect. Strangely, she didn't seem inclined to a long conversation.