Once, I handed a $5 bill forward from the backseat to my boss's boss. He lowered the window while we were stopped, handing it to the man holding a cardboard sign in the median.
“This is from the girl in the back." (I was 25 years old)
The man smiled, nodded, thanked me.
“Get a job!" my manager shouted.
The light turned green. He stared at me through the rear view mirror.
I did not stare back.
—
Once, I arranged special guard and accommodation before a job site visit to a prison. Two weeks before, I asked to be scheduled to visit when the inmates not be there. One week before, I confirmed the inmates would not be there. Day before, a reminder.
Day of: I walked into the prison shower to measure water flow at their new low-flow, temper-proof shower heads, and nearly walked into a man who was showering. Naked. Slowly.
I was made to wait.
—
Once, I was a satellite operator. I could command those machines to take photos of themselves, of Earth, in real time. I could step outside and easily spot them, flying right over my head, in a sea of fixed stars.
Tonight, I counted more satellites than I saw five years ago. Many more. The dismal sprawl of humanity, no longer contained by our atmosphere.
I could not finish counting satellites before more surfaced above the horizon.
—
Once, I was taken aback. It doesn't phase me anymore.