I think that the most interesting thing I’ve developed after getting seriously back into creative writing is my observational skills. I don’t know if I always saw things and forgot, or I didn’t even notice before.

Take today, for instance. I went to Walmart, yay. (No, really. Ugh.) So I bought some food and stuff, and found the best looking check-out line (almost…the shortest line was the tobacco check-out line, but I always feel vaguely guilty to be clogging that one up when the smokers only get that one if they’re buying) and I made small talk with Carol-the-cashier and moved my bags to the cart.

The cashier behind me (the cigarette line guy) said something to his customer about putting something in the buggy. I considered that, thinking about how I always say cart instead of buggy, and wondering if he was from a different part of the country. Swiped the credit card, got receipt (have a nice day-you too), smile, roll on.

Carefully steered the cart back toward the entrance. Almost had a traffic issue near the water fountains, when a man was squeezing past me on the left while a woman was trying to pass on the right. I stopped. Excuse me. Neither of them said anything in reply.

And then, I saw him. The guy. A young man. A stubbly dark brown beard – the kind of beard that is shaved on the top and the bottom, so it’s a narrow-ish line. Lighter stubble above and below the line, so he wasn’t religious about it or anything. Dressed casually. Jeans. Black hoodie. Hiking-style leather boots.

He was using one of those courtesy Walmart sanitizing wipes to clean the handle of his cart. Or buggy. The carts have this little ridge on them in the handlebar, on the plastic, and he was carefully using his thumb to clean the dip in the ridge.

I walked past, my eyes taking in everything as I turned toward the door.

Excuse me – my voice automatically said to the woman coming in the exit door, looking at me as if I was committing a crime to push my cart out the same way she was coming in. She said nothing in response.

Whatever. Still thinking about the guy.

He was young, cute, casual. What’s his story?

I don’t even use those wipes most of the time. They’re such a smart idea – don’t pick up everyone else’s germs along with the stuff you actually want to get – but I’m pretty lazy, and stopping to get a wipe is kind of a big deal. Plus you might have someone behind you, and holding up the line is a no-no. And what do you do with the wipe when you’re done? Usually the trash can is all full. I’ve dropped them in the bottom of the cart before, but that’s also less than an ideal situation.

So. The GUY. In my experience, guys aren’t even that concerned about germs, or being more than relatively clean. Wiping a cart seems like such a fastidious thing for a casually dressed guy to do.

I’m putting the bags in my car, sniffing to keep my nose from running in the bitter wind, when I think about what a fantastic tiny character trait wiping a cart would be in a novel. What an ideal way to show a little something about somebody – and the things it could mean! Is he a germaphobe? Just getting over being sick? Maybe he’s OCD. Maybe someone he loved died from some sort of communicable disease.

Maybe none of those. Maybe the handle just felt sticky. But if so, why not just get another cart? That opens up a whole new realm of ideas.

I think that before, I might have noticed this guy, but I wouldn’t have ended up dragging the idea of him home with me, obsessing over him, and tucking him into my mental file of things that are definitely going to end up in one of my stories.

I freaking love this.