I eagerly showed up the next morning to meet with the staff promptly at 11:30.
Ms. Shields thanked me for coming and said it was a blessing to meet someone my age with so much enthusiasm to help. I began to beam and swell with self-admiration when she added, "But I'm sorry. Our insurance won't cover you until you're older. Our drivers have to be at least eighteen". Her words fell at my feet like cold stones from a child's Easter basket. My swelling pummeled into a quivering pool of disappointment.
My thoughts raced like a balloon released before its time, wandering madly out of words and dropping hopelessly still. My face must have reflected the confused loneliness I felt inside as I could see Ms. Shields struggle for words that might comfort me. Her thoughtful eyes and graceful gestures gave me some hope. "I do have someone that might be able to use your help though", she said. "Ken is one of our more experienced drivers. Maybe you would like to ride with him today". I jumped at the chance as she motioned me to the kitchen where half a dozen ladies were arguing with an old man about the amount of pepper in the soup.
Ken was a robust man for 87 years old. The years had hardened his features, yet left him a little pinkish from too little sun.