Class Warfare

The windshield wipers flapping back and forth on the rapidly icing window were no help at all. Maureen opened the wings to let the cold, outside air defrost the inside of the windshield of her 70 VW Bug.

The thin layer of snow on the ground had turned the slick ice below it into a booby trap. “At least I know that,” Maureen thought as she inched along toward the closest free parking lot to the law firm where she worked. “Why didn’t I walk?”

“You could slip on the ice walking those four blocks from the closest free parking lot,” said the voice inside her head. “Look at your shoes.” Dress shoes. Christmas party. Sheesh.

There was really no point in having driven. Even parking at the closest free lot, she had a quarter of a mile to the old building on 17th street that housed the law firm where she worked. “Christmas party,” she thought.

“I could’ve put my shoes in a bag and carried them,” she sighed. “I don’t do my best thinking at 6 am.”

She slowed gradually to a stop at the light on Downing. Watching a big Chevy slide to a stop, almost in the middle of the intersection, Maureen made up her mind. When the light turned green she turned left, left again, pointed her car toward home and pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building. “This is as close as free parking needs to be.” She closed up the wing windows, locked the car and went inside to change her shoes. She put her fancy disco sandals in her daypack, put on her boots and headed out the back door. “Much better,” she thought, taking long strides down the alley, down 13th street on the old flagstone sidewalk, bordered by winter grass and frosted leaves. To the west, a band of grey/blue was attempting to make some headway into the dim, grim light of 7 am Denver December. Maureen looked at the snowy peaks of the distant range hoping for the Alpenglow to climb up the front of Mt. Evans, but no. Still, if there was light over the mountains, maybe?

“You’re late.”

“I know. I started out driving but the roads were slick, and I decided to turn around and walk.”

“Seriously? It’s not even 10 degrees out there.”

“Well, yeah. Are the bosses here yet?”

“Of course not.” Lori laughed. “Losing valuable billable hours.”

“It’s bad out there. I wouldn’t want to be on the Interstate.”

We’re here,” said Lori who had an elevated sense of justice.

“You take the bus,” Maureen laughed.

“Yeah, well…”


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