Now That's a Drive By

Since there is no way around it, I gather my Unemployment documents, my photo IDs (all of them) and prepare to go to the Office of the Unwashed Masses.  A treat for sure.

I get up, shower and put on a responsible-looking outfit.  I don't really know why. I know I could show up and get in line wearing naught by a pair of Daisy Dukes and a training bra and no one would bat an eye.  But I want whoever I deal with not to question my integrity. I want an outfit that says, "The person in these clothes was actually gainfully employed for a very long uninterrupted period of time and made a very good living.  But circumstances, like everything else, change from time to time, and this is one of those times, and so therefore I do believe that this person and her kids deserve to eat, so please, for the love of God, approve the claim. She'd be most grateful."

I get in my car and head in the direction of the Office of the Unwashed Masses, with fear and loathing in my heart, and that doesn't even cover the road rage.

As I meander through the Hell Hole that is the neighborhood in which I worked, which is also the neighborhood where the Office of the Unwashed Masses stands, however tenuously, I recall the dread of my everyday working life. Happy to be gone, even under these circumstances. Black hole of misery that it was. 

And suddenly, as I pass my old building, there he is.

No, not my boss, and I know what you're thinking. I would not actually run him over.

Scott.

That Scott.

Right by my car.

Really?  After Scott vanished, there was a part of me (okay a huge, dominant part of me) that pined for him. That needed to see him. That hoped I would see him. That foolishly thought if we just saw each other, we'd remember all that we were to one another and get back on track again. But we live 90 miles apart, so bumping into him at the deli was not really likely.

And then, as all my friends and family rallied around me, and I realized what a jerk he was in comparison to some of the fine people I already knew and needed to get to know better, I came to think of the 90 miles as a blessing. No bitter reminders. Nothing tugging at my threadbare heartstrings. Distance made the heart grow forgetful.

And now, all this time later, there he is. 

He sees me and I see him. I wave. He waves. I keep driving.

It was just too weird.