He was a young man, in his 20s, as we headed north on the 50 near the Pompano city limits. It was the middle of the day, so perhaps he wasn't familiar with the countless day laborers who bring all manner of tools aboard in the morning and late afternoon. Now the word 'tools' covers a multitude of objects from the benign to the deadly, so I didn't want to give a blanket answer.
"What kind of tools? As long as there are no exposed blades or anything that can hurt another passenger if they bump into it, it should be ok," was my tentative answer.
"Oh, it's a tamper and some asphalt. I got a job to patch up a parking lot."
We'd just crossed into Deerfield at the north end, he asked when I would be coming back around, then jumped off and went running down a side street.
He must have been glad to find a driver who didn't give him a hard time, because sure enough after our north layover we headed back south and there he was on the opposite side where I'd dropped him off. He hadn't had much time, and he wasn't travelling light. Upright by his side was the tool of his trade, a heavy duty asphalt tamper and a partially filled bag of cold asphalt. Nothing was leaking, the bus was mostly empty this early in our trip, and he stood up front with his gear so we kept it moving.
"You must keep busy, there's no shortage of potholes out there," I commented.
"Yeah, there's plenty of work, but it's hard getting around by bus. I always ask just in case."
I had to admire his resourcefulness in seeing this job got done. A lot of things come down to timing, and the timing worked out for this street smoother.
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