That Cowboy

The door that I use to leave my office is the same door that truck drivers use to get to our shipping office, so I generally pass by many truck drivers on their way to the shipping department in my comings and goings.

Recently as I was leaving for the day, a driver was walking towards me that I took special notice of. He was wearing all black — his jeans, button up shirt, boots, and cowboy hat were all dark. He was wearing sunglasses on his beardy face and his long hair was braided down his back. Since my brain was already turned off for the day, I was mindlessly rolling dumb thoughts through my head:

“I wonder if he likes Johnny Cash. Maybe he has his friends call him Cash. Or maybe he just came from a funeral. Those black clothes must be hot in the sun. I wish my hair was long enough to braid like that. Where are my sunglasses? Do I need cowboy boots?”

So with those inane thoughts running through my head, I was taken off guard when, as we passed by each other, the man in black tipped his cowboy hat, looked at me, and in a soft drawl said “ma’am.”

I think I snorted before I laughed in surprise, but definitely felt the blush rage across my cheeks before I was able to stammer out a “hi” just as he was almost through the shipping door and out of earshot.

Had I not been so flustered, I would have responded with something like “Sir, have a delightful day,” or “My, aren’t you charming?”


Instead, I went to my car and giggled.