He got on the bus in grimy coveralls carrying an old-fashioned lunch box, the kind that looks like a barn with a rounded top made for the Thermos flask inside. Like me, he went straight for the back. Once you get there, you can settle in and release the day slowly, so when you get home, the worst is over.
He was average looking in every way, the kind of guy spy agencies recruit because he can move around and no one remembers he was there. I heard him sigh loudly, so I asked him, "Rough day?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to bother you."
Although I was wearing dress casual with a soft briefcase, I said, "don't worry. Workin' men got to stay together."
He laughed a little and I could just see all trouble just lift from his shoulders. "Must've been a big job," I said. "What was it?"
"Ah, you're not interested..." I could tell he was used to having people only be polite, but not really care.
"Nah, go ahead," I told him. "I got another 20 minutes to go, and I'm too tired to read. What you do?"
"Ah, I'm nobody... Just a plumber."
"Wait a minute, fella. Without plumbers we'd be up to our eyeballs in shit." We both laughed. "No really, you're important. We can't live without plumbers."
"I guess..." He was itching to talk but never had anyone who listened. I once heard Larry King say, you want to talk to someone, ask them what they do for a living. Everyone wants to talk about their work.
"Well, you're not all wet, so maybe your day wasn't so bad."
"Nah, I fix heating and air conditioning ducts."
"Yeah? How'd you learn to do that? Your daddy's a plumber?"
"I went into the Navy when I was 17... They sent me to Viet Nam on the U.S.S. Enterprise." He liked saying that. "U-S-S-Enterprise." He drew out the syllables, the way a man sips bourbon.
"Wow! A carrier! I heard those things are as big as a small town."
"Damn right..." He's forgotten he was tired. "I was three floors below the deck." He might have said something else instead of "floors." I don't remember. "You know what?"
I leaned in. "No, what?"
"I did two tours off the coast of Viet Nam and I never saw it once."
"What?"
"Yeah." He repeated himself. "I did two tours off the coast of Viet Nam and I never saw it once. I had shore leave, so when I got off the ship I saw the country. But I never once saw it from sea. I was always below deck."
Now I'm starting to make mental notes. If I ever write that novel I've been promising myself, I gotta put him in it.
"Boy that must be complicated," I said. "You must be pretty smart."
That stung him for a second. Not in a bad way. He just wasn't used to having anyone call him smart.
"I always wanted to study hydraulics," I said. "I used to keep tropical fish. I had pumps to filter the water. 80 gallons an hour. Guy at the fish store told me if I put a right angle in the outflow, I'd cut the pressure by half."
"Yep, every time you go around a 90-degree turn, you lose about half the pressure."
"So what did you do on the Enterprise? You said you were a plumber. What systems did you work on."
"Just about everything... fuel lines, air-conditioning, sewage, water..."
"I guess it must be easier on a ship. Most of your pipes are exposed so you can get at 'em, right? Otherwise, I always wondered how you guys figure out these things because all pipes and ducts and things are behind walls. Until you pull out the floor or the wall, you don't know what you got."
"You always got blueprints..." He spread his hand like he was spreading the blueprint. "Today I had to work on an air conditioning duct. People on the sixth floor weren't getting any."
"Wow!" I said. "All those people depend on you. Without you, they're gonna roast all summer."
He's smiling now. "Yeah... I guess you're right."
"You must be some detective. Your ducts are hidden in the walls. The air conditioning unit's on the roof. You gotta look at the blue prints and find the problem. That makes you a detective."
He's smiling now. His shoulders are back, there's no slouch in him anymore.
I looked out the window. I'd ridden three stops too far. So what. I reached up and pulled the cord. The bell rung.
"Nice to meet you, mister," I said. "Never got your name."
"It's 'Bill.' " He pulled up his sleeve to show me the faded tattoo he got on shore leave. It was a picture of Wild Bill Hickok.
"Nice to meet you, Wild Bill." I paused in the stair well waiting for the doors to open. He waved. I gave him a salute and got off the bus and started the long walk home.
--30--
