911

Driving down the Hudson River Parkway about 4 pm, I spot 3 boys in their school uniforms:  white shirts and dark slacks, hugging the cement berm at the side of the highway as cars whiz by at 50, 60 miles per hour.  There is no shoulder or extra lane.  I called 911.  Well, first I called 411, then realized my mistake and dialed 911.  A woman immediately answered.  Asked were the boys.  What direction was I traveling in.  Near what exit.  I told her I was nearing exit 14-15 near the George Washington Bridge, so they must be by exit 16 or 17.  She said a police car would be on its way.  I thanked her.

I do remember the day when you could call a business and get a voice, when you could say what you wanted and be done.  Now, it's so surprising to find a voice at the end of the line, to not have to push dozens of buttons to work your way through a menu before an "agent" finally answers.  I like 911.  I like that someone is there and that someone helps you right away.

No More Commute

I lost my job today.  The principal called me into his office to tell me that he was recommending Alex (not her name) for the position.  She is young.  She is beautiful.  I told the principal I had to go, that it was too painful to sit there.  I didn't want him to see me cry.

The drive home was a blur of green draping over the highway and billowing up on the surrounding hills.  I turned off the radio.  For once, I couldn't listen to the voices of npr or the music of wqrs.  I needed to hear the wind rushing through my windows on this 32 mile drive from my school in Chappaqua to my home in Manhattan.