Sunday, June 12, 2011

The Accident

I spent 2 hours with Roman 10 years ago. He was a short, bald, monosyllabic Eastern European who, as we would find out later, was prone to unpredictable blackouts. I had never delivered furniture with Roman before, nor would I ever again.

I usually delivered furniture with the owner Al or his son Mark. We’d load up a gutted 15 passenger van with tables, chairs and movers’ blankets and deliver our goods, sometimes stopping for a sandwich or soda along the way.

The job was an easy one. Load the van, drive to the customer, unload, set up, and then drive back. We would deliver beds, dressers and entertainment centers to everybody from dog breeders to drug dealers.

This particular Saturday morning Al said he had a delivery that would take a couple of hours tops. I get to the store and find out I will be going with Roman. I shake Roman’s hand but he doesn't say much.

The van is already loaded up so we take off. Roman is hungry so we park on the street across from a 7-Eleven.