Day Job Story - Old Don

I drive a taxi. I see people I would probably not see in my regular life. These random encounters often change my perspective.

Yesterday morning was slow - because it was Sunday. I took a call out of my zone for somebody waiting in the Emergency Room at the hospital.

I found this frail man named Don dressed in white in a wheelchair sitting alone in the lobby. He turned 90 February 28 and has lived here all his life while ripening into a gentle intelligent nanogenarian. He told me he busted his shoulder when he slipped on some plastic packaging in the middle of the night and fell against the concrete wall.

I knew his mind was full of images, so I drew him out with lots of questions. He told me about the forest that covered our suburbs when he was a kid. He told me about the Hudson dealership that folded in 1939.
He's never been married. He is a survivor - the rest of his family is dead. His layers of pretension have dissolved away and he appeared, as we all will if we last long enough. His spirit dwelling in his body was something like wind in a sailing ship's gauzy rigging.
We had a couple good laughs as we waited for his prescriptions to be filled. The pretty 24-year-old pharmacist was cranky at work that early Sunday morning. As she hammered her computer keyboard, I noticed how strong, agile, intelligent and bitter she was.
I dropped Don back at the concrete dwelling. He gave me a monster tip.

I drive lots of oldsters in my taxi. When they jokingly quip, "Take it from me - don't get old!" and chuckle, I say, "Are you kidding? I can't Wait!"