| 26 april 2001 a new big apple review! it's like they knew i was in town. | nice guys pulling ahead First, I guess I should explain my absence yesterday. This leg of the trip ended with a twisted ankle. Erk. When I arrived at my destination last night, my foot had swollen to the size of a softball. It's a minor thing, and to be real honest with you, I don't even know how I did it. Maybe all that concrete hiking. Maybe I do yoga in my sleep. I dunno. Yay for ice and ibuprofin! So anyway, yesterday was a driving day. I like to drive, and am blatantly American in my love of a fat road trip. Between the whirr of wheels on highway, to roadside diners, to regional radio, I love it more than almost anything. My mom worries about me when I drive. I suppose sometimes, so do I. I do everything possible to keep myself safe. I watch my back, hang out where there's lots of light, and walk as if I know where I'm going. So far, most everyone has been fooled. Full-service gas stations are the law in New Jersey. I guess they do this to create more jobs, but it is nonetheless a nicety that reminds me of childhood road trips with my family. Most everywhere had full service at that time. The station would fill up your tank, and most always wash your windshield if it was dirty. I used to sit in the back seat with Kelli, enjoying the sound of squeegee against glass. I needed to fill up around Camden. I pulled into the station, and a very friendly fellow went to work. Even without me asking, he pulled out the squeegee to scrub all the bugs and crud off of my filthy windshield. He asked me how I was doing, where I was off to, and if I needed anything else. When I thanked him and said, "no," he looked at me earnestly and said, "for you, anything. You be careful." I know what you're thinking. Picker-upper. Perv. Typical guy. But wait. There's more. Later that night, it came time to fill up again in South Hill, Virginia. An older fellow was manning the register as I came in to get some vanilla-flavored automaticoccino and freshen up in the restroom. When I approached the register, he, too, was most pleasant. "Where you headed?" I told him that I was on my way to D.C. from New York on vacation. He paused for a moment, pressed his lips firmly together, and nodded his head. "Yep, that's a pretty big trip. You doing okay?" Aside from my enormous mass of foot...yep, I was doing okay. He nodded his head again and said, "Well, you just be very careful, and get there safe. I'll watch out while you fill up your car." Did my mom just call you? Pardon me while I count my blessings. For all of those times when just being a woman can be unsettling, I am thankful for these moments when just being a lady works helps me along the way. I like to think of myself as one of those gals who can hang with most any situation. I'm modern, right? I live my life knowing that just being a woman can be...well, dangerous...if you're not paying attention. For every deranged nutsack we hear about on the news, the ones who make being a chick unsettling sometimes, I am convinced that there are nine more who work to help us along. For every gas station attendant, every busy traveller who helped me carry my luggage to the gate, every cashier who pulled a penny from the tray, every gent who held the door, and those two kind men yesterday: thank you. Thank you for treating me well. Thank you for easing my mom's worries. Thank you for making your mothers, your sisters, your wives and your daughters proud that you are theirs. Per your request, I have arrived safely. |
