I Almost Never Know The Things I Think I Know

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 9:00 a.m. 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 3-year-olds and 4-year-olds and 5-and-6-and-7-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.