I have been doing outcalls for a lady with a broken leg. I hate driving. So far as I can tell, most people on the roads, at least in the National Capital Area, consider themselves too important to cut a second’s slack for anyone else, so I always have my heart in my throat wondering when someone is just going to ram my car or cut me off irrespective of potential damage to their own vehicle. Halfway to the appointment today I was clenching the wheel in bloodless fingers, intoning over and over “Just let me go home, just let me go home.”
I kept reminding myself that I was at least not the one with five screws in my femur, for the moment anyway, and my showing up was really making a difference to her. Appointments like that are a genuine treat — you can see the good you are doing — even on days like today, when my arrival overlapped the engagement of a gentleman who was cleaning all the upholstery in the living room with a rather loud apparatus. “I thought he would be done an hour ago.” apologized my client, who has almost reached the point of forsaking her Zimmer frame.
I tried to pretend it was a Zen fountain.