MADISYN JAMES - SCOTT AND THE OLD TIMER

Madisyn is a shy, young woman who loves to read, write, and watch movies. She also likes to play video games with her friends and worry too much. Follow her on twitter @_madisynjay_.

SCOTT AND THE OLD TIMER

​            It was a bitter cold Sunday afternoon. A black 2005 Dodge Neon pulled over on the shoulder of an empty highway. Smoke was coming out from the hood as Scott came out of the car to open it. When the college freshman did so, he realized that the motor had overheated and broken down. The smoke was too much for Scott, for he was hacking up a storm before closing the hood again. The old man is going to kill me, he thought. I have to make it back to Philly before the storm hits. He paced the ground back and forth, thinking of a way to get home. Unfortunately, he had no other choice, but to hitch a ride.
            Standing alone, Scott looked both ways to see if anyone was driving by. Sticking his thumb out into the street, Scott finally came across a silver Chevy pickup truck pulling over in front of him. The window on the passenger rolled down. The face of an older man was revealed.
            “Need a ride, buddy?” he asked.
            Scott nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
            Thrilled, Scott hopped into the elderly man’s Chevy Silverado.
            “Where to?” asked the elderly man.
            “Drexel University,” Scott said, “if you know where that is.”
            “Of course!” the man said happily. “If you want, I can hook your car to my pickup and go get it fixed up for you.”
            “Sure, thanks,” said Scott. He hopped on Chevy Silverado and Roy drove off.
            “You got a name, buddy?” asked the elderly man.
            “Scott,” replied Scott.
            The man smiled. “I’m Roy. Nice to meet you!”
            Roy seemed like a nice man. He had dark gray hair that was slicked back with some gel, and he wore a orange and white Polo shirt with black jeans. He looked about 70 years old or maybe even younger.
            “So,” Roy said to Scott, “this is some mighty fine car you got there. My granddaughter has one similar to yours.”
            Scott remained silent. Roy looked over at him, wondering if he’s okay, and then kept his eyes on the road. Scott thought about his dad getting furious and yelling at him over the phone if he were to find out.
            “Not a talker, huh?” said Roy.
            Scott let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know why my dad would give me such a crappy car. If I had a newer car, I wouldn’t worry about it overheating all the time.”
            “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Roy replied. “Maybe your dad just couldn’t afford something that’s brand new. It’s takes a lot of work.”
            Scott looked up at Roy with wide eyes. He wanted to say something back to him, but he didn’t want to be rude about it. As they rode along the highway, snowflakes started to come down quickly, and Roy turned on his windshield wipers.
            Scott began to pout. This is just beautiful.
            “Sometimes I wish my dad had never gotten that stupid job as a taxi driver,” said Scott, frustrated. “Even my friends’ parents make more than him. All my dad does is sit in a dirty, smelly car all day, picking up and dropping off drunk guys at the bar. Well, at least that’s who he mostly picks up.”
            Roy kept his eye on the road; he was frowning. “Just be glad you had something that got you from point A to point B, buddy. Not many people have cars, especially those who don’t work for what they want. You know what I mean?”
            “How would you know?” Scott asked. “You have a pickup that runs smoothly, and the seats are comfortable, too. You don’t have to worry about stopping the car every 20 minutes, watching the gauge go slowly from hot to cold. What was my dad thinking?”
            “Listen, buddy,” Roy said, “have you ever thought about looking for work? You know, earning some extra cash every week or two?”
            Scott scoffed. “A job? I have an education to focus on, I don’t need a job. Besides, I have my parents paying for my college and housing expenses, and I won’t have any time to hang out with my friends.”
            Scott and Roy had passed a sign that said, PHILADELPHIA; 1 MILE. The snowflakes came down even faster now, which caused Scott to become even more irritated.
            “When I was a kid,” Roy began, “my father worked as a sanitation worker, while my mother was the average stay-at-home wife. My father didn’t make much as a garbage guy, so all we would have for dinner was a piece of steak with greens on the side. For my 14th birthday, all I wanted was a Batman comic book, the newest issue, and I asked my father for one. He told me, ‘Folks like me don’t make a lot by picking up the trash, but the only thing I could give you is a roof over your head. I’ll tell you something else. If you really want something, you have to work hard for it.’ Two years later, I was working at a local grocery store, stacking shelves for a living, and with all the money I’d saved, I got to look at good ol’ Bruce doing business in Gotham.”
            Scott listened carefully to Roy speak. He was interested in what had to say. As they entered Philadelphia, Roy pulled into a nearby auto mechanic place. They both got out of the car, a mechanic came over to them.
            “Broken down, huh?” the mechanic said. “We’ll take care of it for you.”
            Scott and Roy sat on a bench waiting for the car to be fixed.
            “How much is this going to be?” Scott asked.
            “Oh, don’t worry,” Roy replied. “This is on me.”
            “Thanks, Roy.”
            As the snowflakes began to fall faster, Scott whipped out his phone and searched up any places hiring around the city of Philadelphia.