So, the Girlfriend and I were at PetSmart yesterday, picking up a Christmas gift for her poodle, Rusty. (In case you’re wondering, we bought him a pleather aviator’s coat with a faux shearling lining, very dashing and manly. Hey, he’s a poodle, he needs all the external machofication he can get.)

I’d just picked up the bag containing the new dog-jacket from the cashier’s counter and was turning to leave when I nearly collided with another shopper. I drew up short and let him pass by without really seeing him. Just another guy in a hurry, I thought, trying to get in and out of the store on a busy day with a minimum of hassle. I’d taken several steps toward the exit before I managed to process my quick impressions into a complete picture:

African-American (obvious), probably about my age (crow’s-feet around the eyes), vertically challenged in a major way (he rose only to the level of my chest, and I’m only a hair over five-six), and there was something familiar about his face…

I stopped again and put my hand on Anne’s arm.

“That was Gary Coleman,” I said.

“Who?” she asked.

“That guy I nearly ran into.”

She shrugged absently. I nodded in the direction from which we’d just come, where I could see the former child actor ambling into the aisle that was farthest away from us. He disappeared from view just as Anne turned, but she managed to catch a glimpse.

“It is him, isn’t it?” she said.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Want to go talk to him?”

I briefly considered it, but the first flush of celebrity recognition was quickly being replaced with cold rationality. “What would we say to him?”

“We could tell him how much we admired his work on Buck Rogers in the 25th Century.”

I laughed out loud, and said that was one Gary probably didn’t hear much. I considered again whether to chase after the man I’d thought was a kid when I first saw him crossing my path. A man who reportedly moved to Utah because he was tired of being “Gary Coleman.”

“Nah,” I said. “Let him buy his dog food without anybody bugging him.”

Anne agreed, and we walked out to the car feeling magnificently benevolent for merely being decent. I know we did the right thing by giving the star of an ancient sitcom the same luxury of anonymity that everybody else enjoys every day of the week. But still… I would’ve liked to see the look on his face when I told him he rocked as Heironymous Fox.