The Commuter

Was on my way to the first site this morning when I spotted a woman by the side of the road. It was spitting rain. She held an umbrella over her head.

My mind did that trick it does…

…flipped me back in time.

To San Francisco in 1983 when I rode with my Dad to work.

Across the Golden Gate Bridge each way.

For a little while we had another commuter with us. Theresa was a secretary in the office of the general contractor. 

She didn’t own a car, and for some reason, Dad offered her a ride. She was right on the way. Was only a couple of miles after we got near the city.

“It’ll be all right,” he said. “She’s a kid. She needs a break.”

Which sounds wonderful and the Christian thing to do, but Theresa was a freaking mess!

She was late some mornings.

She was ALWAYS miserable.

The end of our ride in was her bitching about how unfair everything was.

And to be truthful, she often smelled of sweat.

I wasn’t a fan of the arrangement, but Dad went with it.

“I feel sorry for her.”

We laid down a ground rule, though. If she wasn’t there when we arrived in the morning, she’d have to find her way in on her own.

She bitched about that.

One fine summer morning we arrived at the spot where she stood waiting for us.

She wasn’t there.

Instead there was a pair of old shoes.

“She didn’t show up,” I said, and then Dad started to laugh.

A little at first, and then his face reddened and his laugh turned into an absolute hurricane of guffaws.

“What?” I asked.

He pointed at the shoes.

“She must’ve bought a pair of odor eaters,” he finally choked out.

We laughed at that for years.

I thought about it again this morning.

As it turned out.

Theresa had quit.

Sometimes I wonder about how her life turned out.