Dear Diary:
I was driving home from a trip to our old hometown, New York City, on a cold morning recently, when I noticed that the car in front of us had a window scraper perched on the trunk. At the next red light, when both our vehicles were stopped in a line of cars, I jumped out, snatched the scraper off of the trunk and walked up to the passenger door.
There was an elderly couple inside, the woman riding shotgun. I knocked on the glass and held up the scraper for them to see, expecting her to roll down the glass and take it. Instead, she waved her two hands dismissively, and both she and the driver shook their heads to say “No.â€
Now I realize that as a 60-something Boomer, I do sport a somewhat scruffy gray beard, and, with my knitted cap and nondescript black coat, could pass for someone looking for a handout, but I didn’t expect to be perceived as a winter version of a squeegee guy!
(After some more hand signals, I did make them understand that it was their scraper, and was able to hand it in the window to them.)
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