About eleven this morning, lifted my head during work, just as the ultimate in post-everything comfort, a hearse, stretchy, and gleaming black in sunlight, glided by the front windows. A hearse is a common enough apparition around the cargo buildings at Vancouver Airport. I cracked a joke, because I see humour in so very much.
“Take that, the next long weekend you go camping in the Okanagan. Imagine next morning. People popping outta their RV’s. Mist rising from the lake. You crawling out the back of that.”
The co-worker chortled enough. I resumed work, satisfied, figuring that was that.
About eleven-thirty, out running some work-related errand and hurtling around a corner, I ran into the sight of the hearse under the clear blue sky. Approaching, along the front of another building. Sunlight flowed over its hood, windshield, the long and spacious box, as it bobbed, and dipped, riding the parking-lot speed-bumps like a ship at sea.
And coming for me, I snickered. And turned inside the foyer of the building I needed to be at.
I didn’t see it when I had done…whatever the errand was. I was looking for it, naturally. My sense of humour, again. Then I heard the low growling engine. Knew what it had to be, before the casual look around my shoulder.
The hearse edged past the parked cars. The driver and I locked eyes. Lifted my hand. I waved. He waved back. Those neat little curtains stood pegged open: I noted no body was riding in the back, not yet. Growling, the hearse passed slowly walking me, and continued around the corner.
All this struck me as a story I simply had to tap down. And…before my day was done.