Call Me Larry

Larry Sprinkle and Me at Matthews Has Talent

You could say Larry Sprinkle and I go way back. The veteran weatherman and broadcaster is known for his warm smile, diligent community service, and his perfect (and real) last name in Charlotte, North Carolina. For me, he is an inadvertent guest star in my life. He has witnessed both my mundane and stage-worthy moments. In fact, he’s the only person who has seen me in a hairnet and bellydance costume. Not at the same time, of course.

I was a chatty cashier at Harris Teeter when I was eighteen. I would say to customers, “What are you going to do with that cheese?” or “I would bake the chicken this way…” This ground my checkout speed to a crawl. Then, a famous face spurred me to pick up the pace. I was not going to let one of the other cashiers steal him from my line. Larry held a green basket. He was taller in person yet just as majestically coiffed. 

“Hello Mr. Sprinkle,” I said.

“Why hello there,” he replied.
“Do you have your VIC card today?”
“Yes, I do.”

I don’t remember what we talked about after that. I was trying not to interrogate him about his groceries.

Soon, my talkativeness went from liability to strength. I was promoted to the fine cheese kiosk, where I could rattle off a hundred reasons to buy Emmentaler at $11.99 a pound instead of Swiss. That’s where Larry saw me in a hairnet. He approached my cold Fortress of Fromage with another green basket (must not be a cart person, I thought). I pretended to casually arrange brie and said, “Mr. Sprinkle, would you like a sample?” He politely said no, he was vegetarian. Then he said, “Please, call me Larry.” I wanted to reply, “Please, call me Joanne,” but my nametag made that a moot point.

My 21st Birthday!

Months later, my birthday at an Italian restaurant put me into a turtle cheesecake coma. My friends and I went to walk it off at HT, where we could visit our people on the second shift. As I stepped onto the curb there was Larry, close enough to high five. He recognized me somewhat, but probably had to work through his previous image of me in a hairnet. “Larry, it’s my 21^st birthday,” I said. “Will you please take a picture with me?” Larry obliged. My best friend, Nicole, snapped a photo of us with her film camera.

This past March, I was tempted to say, “Larry, we have to stop meeting like this.” I was a finalist as a bellydancer in Matthews Has Talent! Behind the curtain, I struggled to quiet my gold anklets. Between my sequined two-piece costume and involuntary jingling, I was shocked the audience didn’t see or hear me. Then, a shadow etched in stage lights emerged. My former HT customer/accidental birthday guest was now the Master of Ceremonies. He flipped through his blue cards and asked, “Is it pronounced, ‘Or-ee-an-tal?” “Orientale Dance” was another term for bellydance. He got it right.

I did not get into the whole “meeting this way” thing. I was going by my stage name “Layla” and was dolled up within an inch of my life. It would be a miracle if he put my hairnet self and bellydance self together as one person. Before my entrance, Larry introduced me: “Performing an ‘Or-ee-an-tal’ style dance, please welcome Layla!”

Since then, I’ve only seen Larry on TV. If you come to expect bumping into someone, you will never see that person. That’s a fact. It’s only a matter of time before I’m bee-bopping about town in a feathered hat or sequined vest (or both), minding my own business, and Larry will reappear. I can’t predict whether there will be high winds or 50% chance of thunderstorms that day. I’ll leave that up to Larry.