— Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal…
I bumped into Emma, our finance director, in the hallway, and she was showing off a cardboard box.
I asked her:
— Did you bring the salaries from the bank?
— No, an old friend gave it to me while I was stuck in traffic (the box says: “Medical Equipment”).
— What’s he hinting at?
— Nothing, really. We’ve known each other for ages, I could give him something like deodorant, and he’d be genuinely happy. We met back in ’98. I had huge car troubles then. Young and naive, I foolishly bought a Toyota from a dodgy dealer, and the parts were mismatched, the import papers were sketchy, and even some cops I knew took my money, promising help, but did absolutely nothing. The final straw was giving my last few pounds to some traffic officers so they wouldn’t tow it away.
Long story short, the car was worth a fortune, and now it was only good for parts…
I pulled up in my driveway, parked by the bins, sat there eating poppy seed bagels, and cried. Didn’t want to show up home like that…
Someone tapped on the window; I rolled it down. A guy in an orange vest with a spade apologized and cheerfully said:
Could you move five meters forward? We’re about to pave the area in front of the bins. By the way, why are you crying? Something wrong?
I wanted to tell him to get lost and shut the window so the asphalt smell wouldn’t be so strong, but for whatever reason, I briefly shared my woes with him.
He responded:
— Oh, stop it, that’s no real problem, as long as everyone’s healthy… You seem to enjoy that bagel, could I have one?
I got annoyed with myself for sharing my troubles with a road worker and at his cheek, but I impulsively handed him a bagel.
The guy said:
— Can I get another one for my mate? There are two of us…
I was shocked by his nerve, but handed over another bagel. I moved the car and continued my sobbing undisturbed.
About ten minutes later, he knocked on my window again.
I opened it and asked irritably:
— After more bagels!?
The guy said:
— No, do you have something to write on? Take this down.
He dictated a phone number from his notebook and added: This is a home number, call after nine in the evening and say you’re calling on behalf of Ken. I’ll let him know. He’s a police chief and will probably help you…
The man said goodbye and disappeared through the dusty asphalt haze, leaving me in a daze.
That evening, I called anyway (what did I have to lose…?).
And just two days later, my car was ceremoniously registered at the DVLA, complete with shiny new plates! (The officers practically fell over themselves to accommodate me…)
I spent a week searching for Ken the road worker to thank him, and eventually managed to track him down on a nearby street. I thanked him profusely, handed him some expensive chocolates, champagne, coffee, and more, and curiously asked how he knew the police chief so well that the chief sent regards to him and his wife…
Ken explained that just half a year ago, he was quite well-off, dealing in medical equipment, but the economic crisis wiped out his business. Now he was working three different jobs—one day on, three days off—and even his wife, a lifelong homemaker, had taken a job washing dishes in a school cafeteria.
All this was just to “stay in the race” since they lived in a large, 200 square-meter apartment in an upscale building, gritting their teeth to keep it together. They sold everything except the children’s schoolbooks but refused to sell the apartment, even though the maintenance and security costed £900 a month.
They kept up appearances with their millionaire neighbors, while they got by on fifty pounds a month for three (at least their daughter went to an ordinary school).
Since then, Ken and I have become family friends. We always celebrate New Year together. Within two years, Ken managed to recover and surpass his pre-crisis status.
And today, as I was waiting at a traffic light, someone knocked on the roof of my car—I looked up to see Ken, now in a jeep:
— Emma, would you like a Geiger counter as a gift?
— Sure.
— Here, enjoy it, and don’t deny yourself anything…
