Mr. Write's Page

Not long ago, I was on a morning mission that took me to nearby Gainesville. By the time I reached the edge of town,  a heavy rain was falling. My wipers were flailing on high and still not keeping up.

At a traffic light, a Jeep Wrangler pulled up next to me on the right. The Jeep’s soft top was up, but the doors and windows had been removed — all of them.

The rain was pounding down hard and blowing around furiously. The driver and the interior of the vehicle were utterly, thoroughly, completely drenched.

The man’s clothes and hair were plastered flat. Water was streaming down his face and dancing on the dashboard.

But he was trying to maintain his dignity. He sat there, stoic, waiting for the light to change, ignoring the situation.

I suppose he could have driven into a gas station to get under the canopy, but that would be pointless. He was already as wet as he was going to get.

As I sat there in my comfortable, watertight vehicle, looking across at the unfortunate fellow, I wanted very badly to pick up the camera on the seat next to me and document his misery.

I framed the image in my mind. I thought about quickly lowering the passenger side window to get a clear shot.

I wondered if that would attract the man’s attention — in which case he would be looking directly at me. Probably in anger.

My indecision proved fatal. Before I could muster the courage to make the shot, the traffic light changed. The Jeep accelerated rapidly and was gone. I continued on my morning mission.

I’ll bet that guy regrets removing his windows and doors with an 80 percent chance of rain in the forecast.