What Do You Expect

I had been seeing a truck in the parking lot of my local Borders book store. It caused me to wonder to whom it belonged. It was a not quite ancient Toyota 4x4 with a bad case of cancer. There were two large holes, eaten in either side of the bed. In these were placed large and nasty looking rubber rats; a front end and back end sticking out on either side.

It was a fairly unusual decoration, and something I expected from a rough hewn man, maybe the concrete worker type. Imagine my surprise when I come out of the Borders one day to find a woman getting in this beastly looking ride. And not just any woman, either. She was a fairly tall, mature and attractive woman with tightly drawn graying hair. She wore a well tailored business suit, with skirt, and feminine, yet professional shoes.

Her, beside that truck, standing nearly alone in this parking lot, was just the sort of incongruous juxtaposition I consider art. It was one of those times when I wished I was the type to carry around a camera. I have not seen her or this truck since. It made me wonder why. Some lesson?

I think this. I have been a person, in my life, to be driven by my expectations. It has made me less than flexible, and that has proved to be a fairly sizable handicap at times. I expected this truck to belong to someone it should. Someone who I had assigned.

This woman and her truck could just be one of life’s curious incidents, but it is not the first time recently that I have had cause to think my expectations.