Hastings. It's a huge store.

I'm not judging. Well, I'm trying not to.

I mean, I know little about what passes for music these days, so I guess it should not surprise me that people who work in a store that sells music and CDs with music on them know nothing about certain other music, like Handel's Messiah.

"I'm looking for the Messiah." That's me speaking to the manager of the store.
"Is that music?"
"Yes." That's me.
"Is it Christmas music?" That's him.
"Moan." I didn't say the word. I moaned.  Then I said, "Yes," like the polite old lady I am.

He asked Amber to direct me to the Christmas music section. I looked it over and said, "I'm looking for the Messiah. Have you heard of it?"

Pause. Then I showed her the CD cover I carried in with me. It said Handel's Messiah.

"Oh. Hondel's Messiah. Yes."
"Good. Do you have it here?"
"Hmmm. Not sure."

We looked. All this stuff was used, by the way.

"Let's go over to the classical section," she said, which was even smaller than the Christmas music section.

"Here," she said. Then, "Oh no. That's not Hondel. That's Hayden." The Hay part as in what you feed your horses.

Believe me. I don't usually do what I did then. But I did it today. I said, "That's Haydn. You'll want to know how to say it correctly." Note. I didn't correct her pronunciation of Handel. It is German, after all.

To her credit, she thanked me and said, "I guess I haven't ever heard anything by him."

This is no big deal. I'm aware of that. It just seems kind of big to me.

I said to her as I turned to go, "This is a very small classical music section."
"Yes, I know," she said.
"When people like me are gone," I said, "there won't be one at all."