My encounter with Mr. Kent

I saw Clark Kent today…

Today I went to Costco, an experience I usually repudiate because I always go for celery and leave with a cart full of things I did not even know I wanted and most likely didn’t need.

But it was there, while pushing my cart among lemons, pineapples and batteries that I saw him. He was tall, probably 6 ft tall, with two extra inches of white hair that moved with the same vibe than a slow-moving shampoo commercial. It was a full set of hair.  

Over his blue eyes, black rectangular and very hip eyeglasses.  He was wearing a very puffy, long coat, the one you use to go pick the mail in Manitoba. But it was understandable. He was standing in front of the Costco Freezer. Checking his phone, a smile peeking in his face. It is not like I was shamelessly studying him, but it was impossible to not notice him. And then I noticed….

Under his blue shirt, only a few buttons open. Actually it would have been appropriately open if he was attending a party at at Caribbean resort; it was definitely too open for a New England winter. But I could not see his chest. Timidly peeking at the bottom of his neck there was a blue t-shirt. The yellow and red lines were distinctive. Under the heavy coat and  the blue button down, he had a Superman T-shirt.

I smiled, not at him, but for a moment I had to think twice if it was Halloween. It wasn’t. This man was not in costume, he looked like the real deal. Well, as if Clark Kent was in his seventies. But he was the coolest seventy-year-old I had ever seen, not counting my father-in-law. 

Because the aisles of the Warehouse club sometimes seem like a labyrinth, Mr. Kent and I kept crossing paths. While my cart was full of fruits and meats, he was carrying croissants and cookies. Lucky him!

I saw him paying a few lines to my right and I was dying to peek at what name appeared in his membership card. I didn’t, I let him go.

I have never been into superheroes (something I am aware it might change now that my son is obsessed with the good vs. the bad guys) but I love the idea of a disguised personality. I don’t mean portraying who you are not, showing an image of a happy, powerful, successful, super woman when you are breaking inside. It is quite the opposite, like my friend Mr. Clark Kent: pretend that you are ordinary but knowing that deep inside you are superb. It is like having the time of your life with friends and not posting it on social media. It becomes your friends’ little secret. Or wearing that expensive lingerie that nobody suspects. Maybe feeling incredible proud that you were early to your appointment, crossed an item of your bucket list or  are rocking an expensive outfit that you got at an incredible sale. Nobody needs to know, but it makes you smile and feel powerful and that is all that counts. And then you push your cart through the aisle of a warehouse and somebody looks at you and questions if you are Lois Lane and you smile because you know you are more than that…you are an ordinary woman that in between grocery shopping and Clark Kents, you have discovered that you actually love the most humble, simplest, imperfect version of yourself.