Our hummingbird feeder had water in the ant moat which promptly froze overnight Friday night. The ice cracked the housing in which the hook is seated which meant that at any time the feeder might come crashing down out of the grape vines.
When we found this on Saturday morning we moved the feeder so it was sitting on the grill under the grape vines where it usually hangs, but that was only a temporary solution. We didn’t want the hummingbirds to get used to the feeder being there (seeing as we sometimes, y’know, actually USE the grill and would prefer not to be harassed when we have to move it), nor did we want the grill cover to become covered in hummingbird poo.

And it was a fairly urgent problem. We have Anna’s hummingbirds. Anna’s don’t migrate out of the PNW during the winter and they are, by far, the most stubborn, pig headed little feather brains I have yet to run across. If the feeder isn’t there we literally have birds hovering three inches away from the back door and in front of the kitchen window giving us the stink eye. Leave the feeder down for too long and the little idiots will dive bomb you when you go outside.

So Saturday afternoon I trotted down to our local Wild Birds Unlimited to get a new hummingbird feeder.

I walked into the store with eyes focused on the back corner where I knew the hummingbird feeders were displayed.
I was no more than about three steps into the store when I heard “Hi Peggy!”. A nickname I’ve not used in 30 plus years.

Screeching to a stop I looked around and saw a guy at the checkout counter. A nondescript dude, a little taller than me. Dressed in jeans and a jacket, some type of facial hair, maybe a hat, and probably an ear plug in his right earlobe (I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to details).
I stopped, fumbled… “Oh, hi! Um…..” I thought he looked a little like one of the Scotts (there were two or three dudes named Scott that hung in my group in high school) and I was about to say “Scott” when he chimed in with “Casey”.

Casey.
Right.
I mumbled something to him about it having been a long time, then was distracted by one of the bird groupies with whom I had a discussion about hummingbird feeders. By the time I got to the checkout he was gone.

Casey.
Casey? Maybe K.C.?

This was obviously someone I knew from junior high or high school. He can’t have been someone I knew from my summers as a camp counselor because I was going by Margaret by the time I was working at Sealth.
Saturday evening I trotted out my Bellevue Beacon (“Go Wolverines!” *GAK*) from 1986.
There were no guys named “Casey” in my graduating class from high school. I didn’t think about K.C. until later and I’ve been too busy to go back and look if there’s someone I knew with the initials “K.C.”. And I don’t think I’ll _ever_ want to have sufficient time to go back through the entire damn student body to see whether or not there was someone in one of the lower classes that I knew named “Casey” or with the initials “K.C.”

So Casey (or K.C.) from Burien Wild Birds Unlimited, if you’re out there I’d appreciate knowing who you are and how you know me.
There are some people from junior high or high school with whom I’ve lost contact that I’d like to contact again. Since I have no idea who you are I doubt you’re one of them, but either way I’d like the answer to the mystery.