In a painful display of what one can only hope was misguided humor, he patronized and belittled the cashier. I stared at him in astonished disgust while he went on and on with his hipper-than-thou wisecracks. The woman standing between him and me squirmed uncomfortably and gently hit his arm reproachfully, as if she wanted him to stop, but didn’t know how to make him do so. I didn’t get a good look at her face, which, at that moment, was fine with me, as I preferred to fixate on the guy anyway. I was obsessed with his boorishness in the manner of a person who almost somehow enjoys listening to a guy on the radio who makes him upset. Meanwhile, this guy luxuriated in his bonhomie in a way that only jerks can do. Finally, he paid up and the pair pushed open the door and walked out into the sunny daylight.

I stepped up to the counter to pay for my few groceries. Before I could roll my eyes and make a little quip about the guy, the cashier and the rest of the workforce, which, as I recall, numbered around five, were pressed against the front window as if sucked there by a giant vacuum cleaner. “That’s her, that’s her, that’s her!” they twittered. I squinted into the sharp island sunlight that glinted down on the couple and saw that, sure enough, it was her.

As mentioned earlier, I only saw her from behind. But I’d know that behind anywhere. It was her, definitely. No question. She was wearing cutoffs, a halter-top, and strappy sandals. And two minutes before, she had been standing just three feet from me. But I had to obsess on the jerk and miss her.

Which is why I’m saying that you need to pay attention when you go to the Caribbean.

There’s a lot of stuff like that they don’t tell you, such as you shouldn’t snorkel with barracudas. But I’ll leave some stuff for you to figure out on your own.