Driving Home

"People are strange when you're a stranger." - The Doors

My daily drive home from works involves a wide array of unique and strange people.

First is the scrawny man with salt and pepper hair that stands straight up like the bride of Frankenstein's. He hunches over an electric guitar and strums with a ferocity comparable to that of any pop rock god. I am befuddled by this - an electric guitar with no amp? No where to plug in? And what is he playing? But most important of all - how on earth is his hair standing up so straight and infallible against the famous southern humidity?

Past the scrawny guitarist is the misplaced postal worker. He (or a large she?) stands on the side of the road wearing what looks like a postal worker's uniform -- blue button-up short-sleeved shirt, navy blue pants, and usually a cap -- and deliberately waves at each car that goes by. The gesture is not truly a wave. Rather, it is more of a one-handed salute of sorts. He looks at you pointedly with his one hand in the air. Do you wave back? Or just drive by? Why does he wave, anyways? I usually wave back, though I don't know why. Perhaps it's an attempt at being nice, which is unusual for me.

Round the bend and under the sketchy railroad bridge used to be where the shouter lived. She reminded me of the troll from the Three Billy Goats Gruff, waiting just past the bridge and launching her oversized frame into the road as you drove by crying out "HEY! HEY!" Arms flailing, eyes bugging, she startled me every day for the entire southern summer that I suffered through without air conditioning in my beat up old Ford.

Yes, strange indeed, these people. I wonder what their stories are. Perhaps the scrawny guitarist used to play alongside Eric Clapton. Maybe the misplaced postal worker is actually a scientist conducting a study on the human experience. And maybe that woman was trying to get me to come to my senses and by a new car that summer. I suppose I'll never know. But I also suppose people like these and their little mysteries are what makes the world such an interesting place to live. What would life be like without the weirdos on my way home from work?

All for now, more to come.

-A