Through the Eyes of a Delivery Goddess |
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One night per week, I do part of a paper route for a friend that requires delivery to stores and those coin boxes where you drop in a few quarters and open the door to get your paper. Anytime one has to get out of a vehicle in the middle of the night, it's human to look around to see if there are any monsters, ghouls, goblins or possible gun-toting thugs. I never know if it is better to close my truck door or not. To leave a small stack of papers at a store (usually closed at night) or a coin box requires less than a minute, so it's not feasable to turn off the engine. Being a naive hoopie from Sticksville during my childhood, perhaps I'm more paranoid than someone who grew up in the concrete jungle, but I always keep a watchful eye for the sort less fortunate than I who comes whizzing from around the corner to slide into my truck and drive away without me. (hence the thought of closing my door to make that more difficult. Of course, a closed door also means it would take more time for me to get into my truck if someone was approaching me. Much like the "chicken or egg" debate, I suppose.) Do I really believe it will happen within the areas I deliver? No, not really, but I watch the news. I hear the radio. Expect the unexpected, right? At most of my stops, I perform a quick scan around me, then proceed from the truck, drop the stack of papers where they go, then hustle back to the truck and drive away, There is one street in one town that makes the hair stand up on my neck, but not for any particular reason. The street is lined on both sides with small, privately owned stores with second or third stories rented out to residents. Each window glass has a painted name with store hours below, and a wrought iron rail to help patrons down the couple of steps to the sidewalk. There are streetlights, and many stores have a dim light inside so police can see any trespassers. Coincidentally, this incident takes place at the Lincoln Pharmacy (no relation). To make themselves accessible to wheelchair and knee replacement folks, the Pharmacy was built with cement ramps leading from the right and left of the main door, rather than a couple of steps leading straight down to the sidewalk. I'm not sure I can describe this properly, but allow me to "give it a shot." The pharmacy has an entry about the size of an average elevator. I imagine it's a place where people wait for their rides or a bus without the rain or sun beating down on them. The doors are inset about 6 feet from the perimeter edge of the street-side wall. I stop my truck parallel with the end of the ramp, jump out and start up the ramp while I look around for hoodlems and car-jackers. My heart rate picks up slightly as every one of my five senses struggles to pick up anything unusual. As I reached the top of the ramp and turned the corner into the large doorway / entry way, someone was bent over a stack of newspapers already in the middle of the floor. I involuntarily yelled - the poor soul straightened up, spun around and yelled back at me, "AAAAUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!!" If you've seen the movie "ET", the boy (Elliot) screams at ET and ET screams back. This older gent, though, had to have been around 70 years old, perhaps even 75. I appologized several times, and with his sunken eyes fixed as if he was looking through me, and his mouth still open, he slowly nodded his head "yes". I grabbed his frail arm and asked again, "Sir, are you SURE you're OK?" His eyes focused more on my face, his mouth closed slightly and he nodded again. He fell backward against the wall about eight inches behind him as I said, "As a single gal out here at night, I guess I'm a little on edge. I'm SO sorry, sir." He slowly rotated his head to look away from me, as if to ponder what had just happened. I cheerfully said, "Have a better night..." and hurried down the ramp. Now at first, I thought he was the driver delivering the other newspaper. The more I replayed the entire six seconds over and over in my head, I think he was actually stealing one of the papers and was probably as paranoid and startled as I was. As I pulled away from the curb, I had to dive by the entrance of the pharmacy. I looked at the gentlman slouched in the doorway, and actually was afraid I'd given him a heart attack. I moved on to the next store - tossed a bag full of papers out of my driver's window, then went around the block to check on the fellow. He was still slouched, leaning against the wall, but he had his hand on his forehead; he must have been holding his head in disbelief. The moral is: if you're gonna steal newspapers, watch your back. |