Taken For A Ride

Posted on April 8, 2014 under Storytelling with 3 comments

 

 

The call came from the east coast, to their home in Calgary,that mother was in failing health.  She and her husband hastily arranged a flight to Halifax that would have them arrive late into the night.  Coming from a large family, there was no shortage of vehicles and the plan was set in place.  Upon arrival at Stanfield airport, they were to proceed to aisle E of the parkade and pick up her sister Cathy’s Buick.  The keys would be under the gas cap, a long held tradition depicting the family’s rural roots.

With the three hour time difference factored in, they had been on the go for some 18 hours by the time they pulled their luggage off the carousel.  They made their way to the parking lot, spotted the Buick and within minutes were on their way.  They saw a parking pass hanging from the mirror and didn’t even have to stop at ticket booth on the way out.   As they approached, the gate automatically lifted.  They eased their way onto the 102 heading east to the family home in Pictou County.

They were quite impressed with the smooth ride of the LeSabre.

Joe worked on the cleaning staff at the airport and was affectionately referred to as “Joe the Janitor”. Joe, not surprisingly, was a neat freak.  It came with the territory.  He was especially attentive to his precious red Buick. He washed it nearly every week of the year and sometimes more often.  On his way to work the back shift, he had stopped by the Big Stop, just around the corner from the airport, and treated himself to a deluxe car wash.  It was nice change from standing in his driveway applying water in frigid temperatures.

They arrived at the family home at 1:30 in the morning.  Another sister was at the door waiting for them. She did not recognize the vehicle.  She turned to her husband and said “Who the heck is that?”

The vehicle that had been left in aisle E at the airport was a Buick Enclave, brown in color.

It didn’t take too much deciphering, even at this ungodly hour of the night, to determine that something had gone terribly wrong.  They were driving someone else’s vehicle.  They looked in the cubby hole and sure enough, the vehicle registration was in the thick owner’s manual folder.  The owner of the vehicle was Joseph.  They didn’t need to know his last name.  His name wasn’t Cathy.

After a cup of tea and a bite, the vehicle was returned to the airport, to section E, but a few spots down the row from where it had been found.

It had been a particularly busy shift for Joe and he was quite tired as he headed to his vehicle.  He thought it a bit odd that his car had seemed to somehow magically relocate itself.  He also noticed more than a trace of salt on the sides of the car.  He was certain that he had filled the car with gas but it was showing half full.  He chalked all of this up to fatigue.   As he was going through the ticket booth area, the attendant yelled something to him.  Something about him leaving last night mid-shift.  He couldn`t quite hear him as he had Q104 turned up high.

He headed for home in Elmsdale as the sun broke through, a blessed and welcome sight after all the bad weather lately.  He pulled the visor down and an envelope dropped into his lap.  He pulled off to the side of the road.

He opened the envelope and read with interest:

“Dear Joe,

You don’t know us but thanks for the use of your car last night.  Here is some money for gas and a car wash.  If you’re ever in Calgary, look us up.  You can use one of our vehicles.”

Joe climbed into bed thinking that it might be time to give up the back shift.