Editorial Inspirations

Though it was early in the morning, the driver who sat in her car beside me must have already been having a bad day. We sat at a red light of a four-lane highway intersection. Behind me, I noticed a cop car. I’d better pay attention to my speed while he is behind me, I thought.

When the light turned green, I began to accelerate. As the car beside me did so also, her car veered closer to my car. I honked once, but she continued to close in on me. I honked again to no avail. I stopped, afraid of the alternative. This is when we need cops, like the one behind me.

To my surprise, the cop behind me turned on his lights. I pulled to the side, in the midst of the intersection. The cop zoomed past me and pulled my neighboring car over.

Had I chosen to fight for my lane on the highway, I could have lost opportunities at achieving my goals due to money and time spent on repairing my car and anything else that might have been damaged, spending time with my husband, and other potential losses from having an accident in the intersection of a major highway.

Why did this woman have nothing to lose so early in the morning?

The apartments next to my condo were torn down two years ago for the building of luxury townhouses. Rumor says that the company wanted to buy the condominium subdivision as well, but when it discovered that the condos were individually owned, the company did not pursue it.

The apartments were the homes to many lower-class Spanish people. Supposedly, one reason for the purchase of the apartments was to alleviate the people standing on the sidewalks at the intersection, waiting to be picked up and hired for the day.

When the apartments were torn down, the people had no place to go. They rented condos in my neighborhood and lived in them, 10 or more people to a one- or two-bedroom condo. And they continued to wait for work on the sidewalks.

The condo association asked that residents report the address of any location with 10 or more residents, saying that it was a hazard as well as a violation of the renting agreements, which generally stipulated only a small family living in the residence. The condo above me had many Spanish people living in it. Each time the door opened, there was a new face. I don’t know how many people lived there, but they never played loud music or were a bother. I never reported them.

Two years have gone by. The luxury townhouses have not been built. The property was twice sold. The vacant apartments were vandalized, set ablaze, and finally torn down. Only the model luxury townhouses sit on the mound of dirt. But the Spanish men stand on the sidewalks every day, no matter the temperature, the earlier the better, waiting for someone to pick them up and hire them for the day.

I wake at 6:30 on most mornings. Quickly, I prepare for a day of work, and I am in my car by 7. My goal is to be at work by 8, but it does not always happen, though I only live 25 miles away.

Each day is long. It seems to never end, but somehow it finally does. Then I lug my worn body back into my car for the hour and one-half commute back home.

At home I continue to work. I freelance write and edit for several clients. Evenings and weekends—the work never ends.

I probably could afford to freelance fulltime, but I am afraid about not having health insurance nor a steady income. I know there are options, but the what ifs scare me. Maybe some day I will take the plunge. Maybe some day I will work only nine to five.

Probably not. An eight-hour workday is not a luxury I can afford.

Living in a condominium with neighbors who are thoughtless or rude, there is sometimes no choice but to stand your ground and confront the neighbors.

One of my neighbors constantly parked his cars in my parking space; since each condominium only receives one parking space, this was a big deal. He would not ask permission, simply filling his and my parking spaces with his numerous vehicles. When I would get home from work and one of his vehicles was in my parking space, I would honk my horn repeatedly until he or his white-trash girlfriend came out to move the vehicle.

This matter irritated me even further because they would not apologize, but act as if I was inconveniencing them. They would stroll out of their condo, fiddle a few minutes, then slowly move their vehicle from my parking space.

Eventually, I stopped honking my horn and instead parked my vehicle directly behind theirs, when it was in my parking space. I parked so closely that they were forced to knock on my door and ask me to move my vehicle so that they could get out of my parking space.

One night, the boyfriend knocked on my door and asked me to move my car so his live-in girlfriend could move her car that was not even registered to belong in our neighborhood. I was so angry with him that I began arguing with him. I told him that if I ever caught one of their vehicles in my parking space again, that I would have it towed.

I don’t know if this was the last time my neighbor and his girlfriend parked their vehicles in my parking space, but it was the last time that I caught them in it. Thankfully, they have since moved out, and I now have new neighbors to deal with.

Driving through the city, I often hear fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances. As a little girl, these noises, as well as the sight of the emergency vehicles, did not faze me. When I began to drive, my thoughts on their presence changed.

As a seventeen-year-old driver, I imagined how I would feel if these emergency vehicles were coming to my aid. I would need their drivers’ assistance. It might be my life that would be determined, depending on how soon the vehicles met me.

When I heard the sirens, I searched to find the rescue vehicle. If I or other cars were in the path, I moved aside and honked incessantly at others who did not until they finally moved from the path to freedom—life.

This act of creating the path did not prove enough. Upon seeing these vehicles, I began to pray for the people in trouble. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know them and probably never would. I could only imagine what trouble they were in and what I could do to help.

A few times, I even cried.

Those people, in such need, and random drivers who care only about being late to work. I care. I want to help.