"Customer Service"

She drives up in a white Toyota Corolla, one of about a dozen brand spanking new Toyotas that just came off the car carrier here. Why buy a white car when you can rent here for $37 a day? That's what I always say.

She rolls down the window and hands me the rental agreement.

"Thanks. How you doin' today," I say, like I always do. It puts the customers at ease, y'know? I'm here to help.

But she looks at me and frowns. I look at her folder. Jennifer Grayson, 39. From Chattanooga, Tennessee.

"You from Chattanooga?" She nods, still frowning. Tapping her foot on the gas. "Pardon me, boys!" I smile my best smile. Yeah, she's probably heard that joke a few times, but not here. I'm smiling like I want her to smile. Sometimes, I just need a smile out of 'em, you know? And I think maybe they need a smile, too, as they head out of the lot to their business trips and their family vacations and who knows what else. I'm here to help, right?

So, I'm smiling and she's just sitting there, tapping her foot and scratching the back of her head with those manicured fingernails. I think they call that color "fuschia". Or maybe "ecru".

"Can I help you get somewhere, ma'am?" I say, still smiling.

"Away," she says, real quiet, like a sigh.

"What's that ma'am?" Thought I'd best ask again, just to be sure.

"Nothing, nothing," she says, staring straight ahead now.

"That's funny," I say, "because I thought you said you were trying to get away..."

"I did ... forget it. It was a joke." I lean out of my little hut. Nobody's waiting behind Ms. Grayson.

"What are you trying to get away from? If you don't mind me askin'..." I say that last part just to be polite. I always find that a little courtesy goes a long way in this business. Lets you get to know folks.

"Everything ... just everything," she says, and then she looks right at me for the first time. Pretty girl. Green eyes. Blonde hair, cut short. Nice tan. Sleeveless T shows she's been working out her arms. She says, "Have you ever just wanted to go some place...some place where no one and nothing can find you? Not your husband, not your kids, not your boss, not anyone. Have you ever just wanted to go away?"

She's shaking now, shivering like the temperature just dropped 40 degrees. But it hadn't.

"Well, you know, ma'am," I say, laughing a little. I'm hoping to put her a little more at ease. "I just have this little hut here, all day long. There's not much of anywhere to go for me."

She smiles a little, let's out a weak laugh.

"But you know," I say, "in my experience, people who say they want to get away, they really just want to have something to go to. You know what I mean?"

"I think so..."

"Here," I say. Hold on just a minute." I turn around and pull out an old cardboard box. It's got a logo from one of those dot-com companies, from when I ordered up that book about the Civil War and the big book about President Lincoln. The one 'bout how he freed the slaves. I think...haven't got to reading it yet. The books aren't in it now... now it's full of, well, all sorts of things. I find what I'm looking for.

"Here you go...you take this." She takes the yellow bundle and looks at it like it's some kind of alien egg, like something's going to jump out of that little bundle and bite her on the nose.

"What...what is it?"

"It won't bite you, ma'am. Open it up."

She unwraps the bundle and finds the little doll inside it -- little blonde yarn pigtails, blue dress and all that.

"Why...who does this belong to?" she says, staring at the doll.

"I don't know for sure, but look on the back." She turns it over, and she reads the label on the back, which the words, in a child's handwriting, 'If I'm lost, call my mom!" and then a name, 'Tanya L.' and the first five digits of what looks like a phone number.

"Is this a local number," she asks me.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you tried to find this little girl?"

"Yes, ma'am, but I can't really get out to do a proper search." At that she smiles a real smile, looks at me with this furrowed brow like she's trying to decide whether to hug me or call the cops, and then she laughs.

"That would be some place to go to, wouldn't it?"

"It certainly would, ma'am," I say.

She laughs, shakes her head at me. I hand her back her rental agreement and step back into the hut as the white Corolla drives off down the frontage road to the highway.

That's what I'm here for, you know? I'm here to help.

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