Dexter

A tricky, one-handed maneuver, holding a cup of coffee, wedging open the office building's back door with my wheelchair and rolling outside, but so worth it. Under morning sun, the parking lot shone black and empty. At the edge of the pavement I perched my coffee on the hood of someone's Toyota, lifted the paralyzed leg against a guard rail and stared at the tracks. A weathered wooden sign warned No Trespassing Union Pacif. The rest of Pacific had splintered off. Which made you think of the San Andreas fault and California splintering off from its own coast. Should I take this sign as a sign? I laughed out loud, took a swig of coffee and looked up and down the rails.

The land along the tracks was barren except for the occasional tumbleweed. The decor ran to old boards, portions of a tire, a T-shirt gradually being claimed by the earth, two fluttering Safeway shopping bags and one remarkably intact teddy bear. The crossing gates up the street went clanging down. My spirits went clanging up. Just after 10 a.m., it was, and damned if the morning Amtrak train wasn't headed my way. Increasingly, I'd been coming outside to watch it. The train was a high, two-story thing, big enough to generate its own wind and drive grit into my eyes. Blue lettering described the functions of the silver Amtrak cars: sleeping, dining, lounging, observing.

I wanted to go on a train, anywhere, just to go. To go without bracing myself behind the disabled controls of my van, fearful of traffic and tense as a fighter pilot. To go without someone like Dottie telling you to buckle your seatbelt or fold up your tray. Just to go. Sadly, a freight train came into view. The engine rumbled. The box cars rattled by with Chevrolets or bauxite or hobos. The Amtrak train was late. On some mornings, it never appeared at all. Too bad. The coffee break was over.

Whatever happened to hobos? What made those gaunt, desperate guys stare out of open box cars at Dorothea Lange holding the camera? Were they thinking she might also be holding a dime? Were they looking for work or just looking for the next thing? What got them through the 1930s, sleeping in freight yards, finding food and water where they could, watching out for railway police. Had they acquired a desperate knowledge of the road? Did they know that when there's no next paycheck, there's always the next town; that when you can't face tomorrow, there's no avoiding Turlock; that when life stops, the spirit keeps moving?

Maybe hobos were gone, but this was still their country, this rubbishy no man's land beside the rails. Say a hobo came walking along the tracks, or just some homeless guy pushing a shopping cart full of cans. Would he see a guy in a wheelchair as an easy target for panhandling, or for robbing or for nothing? Would I roll inside the offices or stand my ground? What do you say to a hobo? Hey, how's it hanging? And wheelchairs being notoriously nonthreatening, and one thing leading to another, how about coming inside the office for some coffee?

With any luck, the hobo would be black. He would take cream, no sugar, and gratefully partake of one of the free pop tarts in the coffee alcove. Dexter would be his name. Wandering down the hall, coffee and pop tarts in hand, we would find Dottie in the conference room. Dottie, I'd like you to meet Dexter. He's in the market for industrial process control software. Most of his processes are badly out of control. Particularly the aluminum can retrieval and recycling process. Dottie, I don't think we have a brochure for Dexter. But I'd like to write one. I'd like to target the Dexter market. What do you say, Dottie?

All this made me laugh, slap the Toyota once more and wish I wasn't out of coffee. I was definitely out of time. Back to reality, back the cubicle, back to the wall. But first, back to Dexter. What if I brought a Dexter inside for a little face-to-face with someone in Sales? Would that someone call a security guard? Would I get fired and, if so, what would go in my Personnel file? "Employee invited ragged, homeless sales prospect to meeting."

This demanded a second cup of coffee, yes, which I would bring outside, where internal discussions would continue. Because it was coming out now, my inner Dexter, and I was feeling dexterous.