Unexpected Passings

Wooly bear caterpillars must be the northeastern United State’s local version of the arctic lemming. Akin to the lemmings’ inexorable march to the cliffs overlooking the sea in years of overpopulation, the onset of the cooler days of autumn triggers some suicidal instinct buried deep down on one of the three brain cells a wooly bear possesses. This time of year finds me driving down back roads like a drunken sailor, in a doomed attempt to avoid squishing the fuzzy black-and-tan creep-alongs.

I have no idea what a wooly bear is thinking when it attempts to cross the road. This isn’t some casual stroll they’re undertaking; they apparently mean business. Each one of the earnest little buggers can be found chugging along as quickly as its legs and pseudo-legs will carry it, in a direction that is no more than a percentage of a degree from a direct ninety-degree angle from the side of the road. They move in haste and deliberation, and en masse. To avoid pancaking one means taking out two or three of his equally driven compatriots.

To make matters thoroughly confusing, these doughty little travelers aren’t even all going in the same direction. I might swerve to miss one heading from east to west, only to find myself swerving again to avoid missing one heading from west to east. It’s some sort of caterpillar cosmic ballet, and it comforts me to know that there is at least one species on earth that is at least as insane as Homo sapiens.

I made a mail run after lunch to my department’s main office, to make sure there was nothing waiting for me. Making my way back through the maze of hallways we call the main building, I passed a coworker whose face I knew from other hallway meetings but whom I’d never actually met. Most of the employees have coats or shirts with their name on them, and this gentleman was no exception. He had the name of a famous former politician, unusual and noteworthy. Let’s call him “Winston” for the sake of storytelling.

Now I don’t know how it is in other offices, but where I work everybody says “hello” to everybody. I smiled and said hello, and he smiled and said hello before making the turn ahead of me towards the main lobby. I followed in his path, about fifteen feet or so behind. After a few steps, he abruptly turned around and said, “I just wanted to let you know, you have a beautiful smile.” I hadn’t expected that, and couldn’t think of anything to say back except “thanks”. He grinned, and went back to walking down the hall. After a few steps he went through a door that leads down to the bowels of the assembly side of our plant.

I’ve never had a complete stranger tell me I had a beautiful smile. I’ve felt self-conscious and happy ever since. I hope Winston had a really nice day too.