Corona has not brought out the best in everyone.
A lot more aggressive drivers seem determined to make Phoenix’s north 101 their personal Autobahn. I‘ve seen some unnecessarily tense and testy exchanges, while picking up meals to go, and heard of others, from obviously stressed and weary fast-food and postal workers.
Maybe people have just been cooped up too long; surely many are grappling with pressures and concerns we can hardly imagine. Still …
On Fridays, my wife is fond of a certain coffee drink as prepared by a nearby burger chain. (Although she prefers Starbucks’ hamburgers.) During the virus, the happy privilege has fallen to me to arise, go forth, brave the germ warfare, and bring back the preferred caffeine.
The first two weeks, I was alone in the drive-through. Last week, the line stretched across the accompanying gas station parking lot (yep, half burger stand, half gas station – nothing’s too good for my beloved) and out into the street. I opted not to idle in the avenue, and instead drove around the station to wait, like some others, at a 90-degree angle to the in-the-street-queue.
The plan was for us all to take turns: street line moves forward, then someone from the angle. Street, angle. Street, angle. It was simple, clear, and, like a four-way stop, too common-sense obvious to require anything like signatures on the Magna Carta.
Only the street line drivers wouldn’t play the game. Driver after driver sat, eyes fixed down on their cellphone, until some instinct prompted them to easssse forward, their bumper to the-guy-in-front’s bumper. Crowding out the 90-degree line completely.
The guy in front of me finally gave up. I would not. I eassssed forward, too. The street line lady driver never even glanced my way. She moved within a millimeter of my front-end and never knew I was there. The guy behind her knew, but was willing to use his headlights to crush the bugs on her bumper, if it meant keeping me on the sidelines.
Trouble is, these people can tell – wicked intuition – whether you’re the type to risk everything to jam your way in, or the kind who’s going to be polite and wait your turn all day if you have to.
I, apparently, have a tell.
Four cars later, a driver in the street line twisted over the back seat to swat at her child, and her distracted pause opened a Cumberland Gap for me to squeeze into. I waved my thanks in the rear-view mirror, pretending she’d let me in on purpose. But the rude ones in front of me still grated.
My eyes drilled holes into the oblivious back of their selfish, selfish heads. I drove home fast to denounce them to my wife, while she calmly wiped down her coffee cup with a Handi-wipe.
A week later, and with a certain nameless dread, I come again for the coffee. This time, the line is shorter, but as I turn in off the street, a long, low sedan pulls up at a 90-degree angle. Sigh. One of those people.
The driver, naturally, is lost in her Smartphone. Half-in-the-street, I wave her forward.
She’s not paying attention. I wave again, one eye on the gigantic trash truck converging on me at Mach Two.
She suddenly glances up, starts, and quickly pulls forward. I murmur unkind thoughts, surge ahead just in time for the trash truck to vacuum my rear bumper with its slipstream.
She ambles along, I amble behind, fishing my wallet out of one pocket and loose coins out of the other. Place my order. Pull up to pay, proud of my exact change.
“Well, the person in front of you paid for your order, so just go ahead and pull forward.”
Wow. Wow. I‘ve heard of this kind of thing. What a sweet surprise. My heart bathes in a warm glow of pure sunshine for the back of that lady’s head, up there.
She drives off. The fast food worker leans out with the coffee. “The lady ahead of you said to have a nice day.”
Better than a fortune cookie. How very kind. The new day glistens bright with possibilities. Every man and woman a potential friend. I sing a joyful tune as I cruise along back home.
I hand my wife her coffee, tell her my happy tale, beam with love for our oft- misunderstood human race. Is there no end of lovingkindness in this great country? In all God’s wide, beautiful, generous world?
My wife scrubs down her coffee cup with a hand-wipe.
“Did you pay for the person behind you?” she asks.
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