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WRITERS WORK TO EXPLAIN WITHOUT BEING A JERK

writers work

Writers work, readers read, and somewhere between the two an agreement happens.

Sometimes the agreement includes a reader who stops reading while the writer keeps writing.

That’s what writers do. Readers look for the next story, something more worthy of their time.

Then this happened:

My dear wife left the house with her mask to run errands and keep appointments.

Me: Honey, in quarantine time maybe re-schedule a few things?

Her: I’ll be back in a few hours.

I tended my morning writing chores, checking data, analytics, how many countries around the world showed up for boomerpdx, how many states around America showed up.

Then, after gauging audience requests based on my ‘research’, I started drafting a new post.

Forty five minutes later my phone rang. My dearest had locked her keys in her car. I waited for her to ask me to help. She didn’t, so I asked if she’d like me to bring an extra key over.

Her: Yes, please.

I checked my to-do list and didn’t see an entry to make time to rescue someone from a lockout. So I added it and checked it off.

I left the house with the plan of getting the car unlocked and return. With bed-headed hair, paint stained sweats and t-shirt, with a pair of slip on sandals, I showed up in the parking lot of a professional building looking sloppy.

Since the car had an electronic fob-key, I’d zip in, unlock the door, grab her keys, and give them to her, and get back to the job. Writers work most efficiently with a deadline.

Writers Work Postponed By Dead Battery

I drug my poor appearing self to the driver’s side of the car. I saw a set of keys in the section between the front seats. The door was still locked.

To re-set, I’m a sketchy looking wild haired old white guy fidgeting with the door handle of a nice car. Nothing suspicious here, right?

My immediate goal was prying the cap off the section of the door handle that covers the actual keyhole. My long range goal was to avoid breaking, or losing, something important.

My total focus was on the door, with an internal monologue like, “Didn’t I do this before? How did I do it? I didn’t break it then, but how did I do it?”

I’m leaned over wondering how this might look on a security camera when I noticed a man in a uniform watching me from the sidewalk. Not a passer-by, but a witness.

Due to the events unfolding around the rest of the nation, I stood at what felt like a crossroad. An old disheveled white man frustrated by technology getting scoped out by a young man of color in uniform.

Neither of us made a challenge. The only words exchanged were helpful.

Me: Wife locked her keys in the car. Do you have any idea how to open a door with a dead battery fob?

That’s when he started talking about the car I drove up in. He almost bought a similar model and stopped to admire my ride and ask if I was happy with it.

I found a YouTube video on the fob

Me: I think I’ve got it here. Keep talking. I’m listening. Yes, this is the best car I’ve ever had. What was wrong with the one you saw?

Him: Wrong color. If it was the same color as yours I would have bought it.

Me: What color was it?

Him: White.

Me: I saw one of those and got silver instead.

I’d pried the key cover off and unlocked the door.

Him: You did it.

I finally looked at his uniform. Not security, not a policeman, but a bus driver’s uniform.

Me: Have you come across a scene like this before, someone trying to unlock a car?

Him: Not with the same expectations.

Me: I enjoyed the company, man. Thanks for hanging out.

Him: Now I know the car I’m buying.

Me: You’re going to look great. Three rows is just right for kids. You got kids?

Him: Four kids, so the more rows the better. See ya.

Me: Alright.

He walked the lot to the bus parked at the end.

I found my wife, gave her the keys.

Her: My battery is dead. Could you stop at a battery store?

After the new battery I went home and checked my list. Nothing about a battery store detour, so I wrote it in and checked the box.

Then I made another list of what could have gone wrong in the parking lot, and why it didn’t.

About David Gillaspie

I am a writer. This is my blog story day by day.