Tuesday, March 31, 2020

3.31 Safeway Truck


31 March 2020. Safeway Truck.

Man or car? But that's not really the choice. I was walking up Solano a little after 7pm--the clouds over the hills against a sunset sky, particularly beautiful--pink and gray and gold, spread gently against the evening blue... You can't not be grateful each time. And the street almost entirely empty, just like last night, and the night before. A few stragglers on the sidewalk, widely spaced, one at a time for the most part, except for an Asian family, parents and two small children, walking together and laughing. Felt as if they were brave and foolhardy at the same time--or that they knew something important, in a quotidian way. I'd seen them before--a group stands out...
Very few vehicles, but there in front of the apartment building on the corner of Ensenada (somehow a landmark--that dark corner at night) I see a familiar sight. The Safeway truck. My heart lifts--absurd, of course, to find happiness in a commercial vehicle. It's scrunched up to the curb, one wheel up on the concrete. At first I think it's just parked--and why here in front of the apartments--except that they're probably low rent. (Cycle of thoughts.) But then I see a guy in a hooded sweatshirt, closing the rear door and making his way around to the open door of cab.
I walk towards him, ask about the truck, the deliveries. At first he's ambiguous, but my attitude--good will, that is--gains his confidence. Their deliveries? Last week, way behind. A week out at times, undependable. "But they're hiring more people. All the stores, 4 or 5..." He expresses this in a very basic way--words not being his thing. (I think of the California public school system for an instant--how you provide for a young guy like this, but just a flash.) What I want to know, of course, is can I order groceries and actually get them delivered.
It's the pattern that matters--something known, something familiar. A comfort, even when your mind tells you, be open to change...
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I ask if people tip. (I've gone out without cash, though.) Half smile. Mostly not. I tell him, "When you come to my house, I'll give you something extra for sure." Answer, "Hey," (full smile, and very much in character), "what's your address...?!"
He knows I'm thanking him, too...
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Note: The truck is like an apparition. Maybe because it's relatively large for a neighborhood street. A little prehistoric. They delivered to me last summer when I needed the service for a couple of weeks. Would hear it arrive in the night, sound of the corrugated door being rolled up. Face of delivery guy as he appeared on the porch, 2-3 gray plastic Safeway bags in each hand...