Last Friday, I met Deborah, and she works for the VA. Today,
I saw her on the E Line at 3rd and Columbia. We chatted, well,
actually she talked and I just said, “Oh! That’s nice” every few minutes.
Sitting next to her was a gentleman who kept randomly
interjecting comments that didn’t make any sense. She got off at Pike Street,
but he stayed. And he decided that I was to be the beneficiary of his
commentary.
Now,
throughout my bus riding adventures, I "thought" I had been doing a
good job of listening to the Holy Spirit in regards to The Love Project and the
people who come across my path. And then this happened... and I doubted it all.
From 3rd and Pike to 160th Ave and
Aurora, he talked. Bernard Franklin talked. And talked and talked. Because
apparently I have a face that says, “Please talk to me. I am a really good
listener and want to know everything about you.”
He first told me he was going to go home, take a shower, get
dressed in his nice shoes (insert name brand I cannot remember) and then head
back downtown Seattle to eat at The Crab Pot and walk around the waterfront.
He then proceeded to tell me he had just finished renovating
a basement apartment and it had taken three weeks. Oh, and did I mention that
this was the first weekend he had to himself in three months? And that he hung
four sheets of drywall on the ceiling by himself?
He asked me where I worked. I told him, and he shared with
me that he and his brothers volunteered at the Mission. He shared they served
meals and that his brother who owns a BBQ food truck took BBQ to the Mission.
Which led to the fact that his other brother worked at the Salvation Army. AND,
that he is one of 18 children…. Good heavens.
There were several references to his singleness and that it
was hard. But that was mixed in with his prior residency in Tukwila, living in
the Tri-Cities and the passing of his daughter.
As he continued to tell me about his business (car detailing
and construction renovation), he gave me one of his business cards. Whatever,
that was fine. Networking is great and everything. Then began to delve into
even MORE stories about his two employees who left him asleep in his office
overnight. I heard about his contracts with Boeing, Swedish Hospital, and Group
Health.
Did I mention that he also details monster trucks? Cause he
apparently does that as well.
Up until this point, I have not asked him a single question.
All the information has been voluntary.
Then it gets weird. He tells me I should call him sometime
and he can take me out to dinner.
Um, what? I am almost positive this guy is 65+. Is he just
really lonely and wants to eat with anyone, or is he trying to hit on a 26-year-old
young woman? I am slightly confused, but trying to give the benefit of the
doubt.
It is at this point he starts rambling again. I learn he
wants to open a car detailing shop in Shoreline, but it would be soo much work and he doesn’t know if he
wants to do that.
He told me about his baby. A ‘66 Mercedes Benz. He never drives
it if it is dirty. He washed it in the snow, and if a bird poops on his car? He
will pull over, get a rag out of the trunk and clean it off before he continues
driving. Because why? He hates dirty cars.
As we are pulling up to the stop at 155th, I realize
I am almost home, and I am thrilled. Lord Jesus, I know I should feel more loving,
but this guy is talking my ear off. Just as I was putting myself into a full-blown
guilt trip for wanting him to hush, Bernard Franklin did me a favor and removed
every ounce of guilt from my mind.
Mr. Bernard “I Am Old
Enough To Be Your Grandfather” Franklin tells me again to call him. Says he
will take me out to dinner because eating alone isn’t fun. Um, I love eating alone. I get seconds, thirds and fourths.
“I’m serious, I’ll take you out to dinner and then maybe I
will send you flowers. But I won't send a card because I want to keep you
guessing, heh heh heh.”
My stop is usually
165th. I got off at 160th. And walked.
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