I leaned across the passenger's seat to crank down the window.

"Are you O.K.?", I called into the downpour.

"Yeah.", the man replied. "Just a flat. Can you give me a lift?"

"Sure.", I told him. He ran to turn his flashers off and lock his doors, then splashed his way back to my car.

"I was late for work anyway.", he said, as if it really didn't matter. He was in his mid-twenties and rather shabby-looking-- broad in the shoulders, but short in the legs and thick around the middle. His shaggy hair and beard held the smell of stale smokes. He didn't thank me for stopping or bother to introduce himself.

"Names Geoff.", I said extending my hand.

"Butch.", he replied.

"Where to, Butch?", I asked.

"Food Factory Supermarket... out on the highway across from Wallymart."

"I know where you mean.", I said. "I shop there sometimes. Maybe that's why you look familiar."

"Maybe.", he replied.

"So what do you do there?", I asked. "Butcher... stocker?" If I had suggested that he see a doctor about his leprosy, the look he gave me would have been just as caustic.

"I AIN'T NO STOCK-BOY!", he replied indignantly. "I'm a 'Loss Prevention Specialist!'.

I apologized.

"So what's a Loss Prevention Specialist?", I asked, trying to be polite. It sounded to me like a job that required an accounting degree but in fact, it translated as: 'plain-clothes security guard'. He may not have been the chattiest guy I'd ever met, but he sure loved to talk about his work.

"We nab kids, mostly.", he explained. "But you'd be amazed. Last Memorial Day, I caught a guy tryin' to sneak out with a family pack of lean ground beef down his pants. Turned out to be one of the city councilmen. Unbelievable."

"Sounds exciting.", I lied.

"Sometimes.", he admitted. "But mostly it's just boring. If we catch three shoplifters a week, we're busier than usual. Most of the time, we just try to keep ourselves amused."

"In a supermarket?", I asked. "How do you manage that?"

"It was tough.", he admitted again, "At least til we discovered 'Rhudabega Cam'.

"Rhudabega Cam?", I asked.

"Yea. If things are slow, we'll take the produce department surveillance camera and zoom in on the rhudabega. Rhudabega's one heck of a nasty vegetable.", he explained. "Only two kinds of people buy it: old folks and weirdoes. The weirdoes can be fun to watch. We just follow them around to see what they'll do.

Until that moment, I hadn't given much thought to rhudabega. But I admitted that the only person I knew who ate it was my great-aunt Agatha.

"She's your GREAT-Aunt?", asked Butch. "Well, that qualifies her for one category, at least.

"There was this one time...", he continued, breaking into a chuckle, "that this guy comes in and we catch him puttin' a rhudabega into his cart. He wasn't too old either-- about your age maybe; dark hair, bald spot-- definitely a weirdo candidate."

"I was workin' the floor and my buddy Elliott was upstairs controllin' the cameras. This guy starts walking through the store and Elliott is keepin' the cameras on him the whole time. What a scream! Before ya' know it, he's buyin' all this bizarre stuff: okra, turnips, chives, currant jelly, prune juice, and every disgusting meat product in the store: head cheese, souse, scrapple, tripe, pig's feet-- UHHHGH!"

"Then he hits the health and beauty aid aisle-- and things start gettin' REAL strange! He's buyin' support hose, hemorrhoid suppositories, flatulence pills, athletes foot powder and get this: adult diapers!."

"So anyway, Elliott has this idea and calls me over the radio. He says I should grab a bunch of those items myself, tear the price tags off and switch them out of the guys cart when he ain't lookin'.

I gave Butch a look that he mistook for puzzlement.

"It'll make sense in a minute.", he explained. "You'll laugh your butt off. Just let me finish. So then I had an idea and I radioed back to Elliott and told him to tell the manager to put his cutest cashier on the checkout line when this guy comes through." He giggled in anticipation, then looked my way, expecting the same.

"You don't get it yet, do ya'? Well here's what happens, see? Here's this poor idiot... heading to the check out with a cart full of the most embarrassing groceries in the history of the world... and this really hot-lookin' cashier is giving him strange looks... and gettin' on the PA system sayin' stuff like, 'Price check on support hose!'; 'Price check on head cheese!'; Price check on suppositories!'. We coulda died, we were laughin' so hard!"

"Hey buddy!", he exclaimed, suddenly startled by what he saw out the window. "I think you missed your turn."

"That hot-looking cashier...", I asked, ignoring his question. "Is she blonde, about 5'-6", mid-thirties?"

"... Uh...", he stammered.

"Named Karen?"

"Yea!", he said, "You know her?"

"No... but I was hoping to.", I said, grumpily. "And this idiot with the embarrassing groceries... he was about my age, you said?"

"Yea...". Butch's replied, with a hint of fear in his voice.

"... about my build?... my height?... my hair color?... except he had a beard, right?"

"Yea... But I never mentioned no beard. How'd you know that?"

"Because I shaved it off last week. By the way", I said, lowering my head to give him a clear view of my bald spot, "does THIS look familiar?"

By then, we had arrived back at his car. He climbed out into the downpour without a word.

"Remember when I said my great-aunt Agatha was the only person I knew who liked rhudabega?", I yelled through the open window, "It's true. The only reason I know that is because I do her grocery shopping for her. So whatdya say? Are we even?"

He thought about it for awhile, then shook his head in agreement.

"Well...", I told him, "You'd better climb back in, then. You're late enough as it is.... and maybe you can re-introduce me to Karen."