A labor of love

I was driving in D.C., as I am wont to do on my travels from Arlington, Virginia back to my parents' home in Newark, Delaware, when I happened to come to a stoplight (also wont). A gentleman with a bucket and raggedy clothes approached my car.

What was this? He lifted my windshield wipers and unsheathed a squeegee from his bucket. He slashed his instrument of cleansing power left and right with thoroughly deft strokes. The stick darted here-sponge side, then there-rubber strip side. My window was becoming as clean as it had ever been!

It took me a second to understand. I had not asked for such a service. It was freely offered to me. I was touched. To see someone so selflessly serving me made me grateful beyond words. And I had done nothing to deserve this except arriving first at the intersection. Incredible.

As the man completed his labor of love, he snapped my windshield wipers back down and yelled something I couldn't quite understand. Between Yanni blasting from my speakers and the noisy road traffic, the only thing I could make out from inside my car were the words "...help me out!?" I smiled. Yes. He had helped me out. He didn't need to tell me.

I waved at this patron saint of the highway, and yelled, "Thank you!" with all the warmth and gratitude I could muster. The stoplight turning green cut short other formalities. He walked away briskly muttering to himself, no doubt enthralled with the good feeling that comes with serving our fellowman.

As I drove on to my hilltop beach vacation home, I couldn't help but wonder about this man who gave his Thursday afternoons to serving others. What did he do professionally when he was not caught up in his altruistic labor? What was his social network like? Did we run in similar circles? I wished I could visit him personally and deliver a delicious premade fruit cake to him and his family/servants.

That man may go on to clean many other windshields. He may not remember me personally. He may not remember the words we exchanged. But when he looks back on his service, I am confident he will always remember the way he felt.