On our way to breakfast this morning, I stopped for gas.
As I pulled up to the pump, I noticed a woman sitting in a nearby parking lot. She was in a red Pontiac, the windows rolled most of the way up. As I got out to pump my gas, she got out and walked into the nearby liquor store.
"Maybe she works there," I thought. "But what are the chances of that? Poor lady. It must be sad living a life in which you end up in the liquor store at 9:00am. I'm so glad I stopped drinking."
I peered through the window at my kids. They were looking at books, and the sun was shining.
We spent the morning outside, in the re-fueling spring air. I went out to vacuum the car; its level of absolute intolerability had reached its peak.
"Are you still out and about?" texted Tim. "Can you pick up a few things?"
Graham crackers. Chocolate. Marshmallows. Vodka. Salad greens.
I have no problem picking up alcohol for people even though I don't drink. I don't get triggered sitting at the bar at restaurants. You're welcome to enjoy a perfectly-sour margarita when you come to my house to grill on a warm summer night.
I went into the liquor store. I walked through the same door that the woman with the red Pontiac had walked through some hours before.
I got the vodka. I stood in line. And when I got up to the register, I smiled at her, the owner of the red Pontiac, the friendly, hard-working woman who is spending this beautiful spring day indoors, running the register.
My teachers are three-year-olds and four-year-olds and five-and-six-and-seven-year-olds.
I get schooled by chefs and servers and guys smoking butts on the street.
And today, it was The Lady In The Red Pontiac.
I hope she gets out of work soon, and can bask for a bit in the glory of the sun.