Presently am in what is known as Upstate New York. [There is a proper definition, it means generally, heading north or west from the City and after about 2 hours you are ‘Upstate’]. It also means that folks live here who may have never been to the City and don’t care if they ever do go. It feels like a universe away. And it is beautiful. And impoverished and quiet. None of the noises of the City or the urgency of the crowds. The roads may be paved, or gravel, the signs for directions are accurate if you are local and know what they mean. None of the lawns are manicured, or the outbuildings tidy, but the beautiful barns and this time of year the changing leaves, the area is spectacular. So I’m here, and one of the things I always seem to ‘have to do’ is mail something. So I head to the Post Office for my second visit. As I pull up, I see a woman standing beside a man who is standing beside her car at the driver’s side with a long piece of metal, stuck in the window. Doesn’t take a second to see she is locked out of her car. While I extricate myself from my car, I hear her say ‘Last time we….” and I thought “last time”?! As I turn to close my door I look inside her car and see that the keys are not in the ignition. That surprises me. But I figure none of it is my business, and I go into the building. I’m next in line and wait for the clerk and the local to finish their discussion, and then it’s my turn. Nothing remarkable about our interaction, until it is time to leave. As I am pushing open the door, the clerk says, ‘Have a nice day.’ I reply “Thank you, and you too, as your day is nearly finished.’ It was 4:15. ‘Oh no.’ she replies, ‘I have to go to Court”. ‘Go to Court? What do you do there?’ I ask. ‘I’m the Judge’, she states. Somewhat taken aback, and having intimate knowledge of the Court system in Virginia, I repeat, ‘Judge. What kind of Court is it?’ ‘Civil, criminal, all of it.’ she replies. At this point I have no idea what I said. But somewhere in the conversation I ask if she has to have a law degree to do this. Her reply is no, but had she known 25 years ago when she began this, she would have gotten one. PolyAnna me of course suggests that it’s never to late. I ask if she is what is known as a Magistrate. [I only know what that is because of research for a role]. She confirms that she is and she thinks New York is one of the last places that still has them. [Later learned that Delaware has them as well]. She asks me what I do and in my reply I state that I came to this late in life, believing it is never too late. And out the door I go. Approach my car, parked next to the still unlocked SUV with woman and male helper, but the woman is now leaning against the car on my side, the passenger side. I say to her, ‘Did I hear you say,”Last Time”?’ ‘Yes.’ She says. Continuing the conversation, I ask, ‘Don’t you have a second key?’ ‘Yes’, She says. “He went home to get it [doesn’t clarify who “he” is] but it wasn’t where I said it was.’ ‘How far away is home?’ I ask as I am crawling in behind the wheel. ‘Oh’, she hesitates, ‘5 miles’. ‘5 miles’, I repeat. ‘Would you like me to drive you there so you can find it? It might just be a lot faster.’ ‘No’, she replies but seems dubious. ‘Your call’, I reply, ‘Be happy to do it for you’. ‘No’ she says again, and then gestures across the parking lot of the post office. ‘There is a garage over there and they are our friends, and if I need to, I can ask them.’ To this I said nothing.
In the end, as I drove away with the man still at the driver’s side with his long piece of metal, and the exchange with her I wondered if this was one of her attention getting mechanisms because there appeared to me, to be simpler solutions.
Tiny city ways.