Parka-man

It’s raining in California finally, the first this New Year. As I scrabbled around under a 98 Toyota 4-Runner, my motion detector went off. Rolling to my left, I saw a huge figure standing in the middle of my front entrance. The grayish background of rain and fading light made an impressive contrast for his bright yellow parka. The parka hood flopped loosely over my visitor’s forehead, so his facial features were hidden. Immobile and dripping rain, all the guy needed was a chainsaw, and we had the start of a new horror series.

When I walked out to greet him, Parka-man didn’t say anything. He reached into the top of his grimy yellow slicker, and I started gauging how far I was from my nearest weapon. Parka pulled out an air-ratchet, waving it a little in his left hand.

“You have one of these… five bucks…” Parka-man offered, his voice a bit higher than I expected.

“I have all the air tools I need,” I answered.

“It ain’t stolen,” Parka tells me.

“I didn’t say it was.” I thought it, but I didn’t say it.

The yellow hood bobs slightly in acknowledgement, and the air-ratchet gets shoved back inside the parka.

“You need any help around here?” The yellow hood swings from side to side, looking around the inside of the shop.

“Sorry, this is a one man shop.”

“Pretty big shop for just one guy,” Parka remarks gloomily. (Warning! Disallowed Adverb) :)

“Yea, I have plenty of room,” I agree.

The hood bobs once again, and Parka-man turns to leave. I watch him till he rounds the shop door corner before returning to my Toyota job. The rain didn’t keep everyone inside.