Broken drive shaft

Cops are not my favorite type of people.
The ones I’ve met socially have been poorly disguised sexist Neanderthals.
The ones I’ve met professionally (yes, I too have rolled through stop signs in a small Midwestern town) have been very obviously sexist Neanderthals.

I’ve never met a female cop, socially or otherwise. Perhaps there should be more of them.

Today, I had the pleasure of being stranded on the side of the road with a broken drive shaft. It is a very definite way to make certain that a vehicle will not be moving any time soon of its own power.

I was stranded for 45 minutes.
Not an unbearably long time, but it did allow for a certain amount of people watching.

I was passed by a police car. I know he saw me. He stopped right next to me at a stop light.
I was relieved, I’ll admit. As I said, I don’t particularly find them pleasant people. I’d half expect him to yell at me for not having made it to a parking lot anyway.

Someone did stop.
A black man driving a Boys Town van.
“Do you need a ride?” he asked. “You’ve been here awhile.”

I responded that I was fine and that help was on the way and thank you very much.

He drove away.
And then drove back with a card for a repair shop.
“These guys were really nice to me,” he said. “I really like them. They’ll help you out.”

Guess who I called?
You bet I did.