It's 9:17 Saturday morning. I'm driving Megs' car. My wife is in the passenger seat and Jillian sits in the back taking in the sights. I've arranged to drop off my car at the mechanic's shop on Monday and then pick up my rental. 

I'd almost forgotten what it's like to drive a perfectly-functioning vehicle with a normal hood and no scary mechanical sounds threatening imminent disaster. And it's a treat to be free of that noxious odor of chemicals, raccoon urine, and rotting carpeting infused into the interior of my vehicle. My wife's car smells like plush leather upholstery and, of course, Megs.

I steer from the main road into a small suburban office park. The morning sunlight illuminates the faces of four brick buildings perched at the top of a graded hill. The line of ornamental trees bordering the driveway casts long shadows across the asphalt.

As we pass a lawncare crew cutting grass and trimming hedges, Jillian comments, "This grass doesn't even look real. It's too green. It looks like our neighbor's yard."

"Is that building 4 on the right?" Megan asks.

"Yep," I drive into the asphalt lot and park near the front door. 

"My office is on the second floor." I get out and snatch my briefcase from behind the driver's seat. "Come on. Let me show you around."

"This is so close to home," says Megan, "You could practically walk to work." 

"Hey! Hombre!" A gruff voice bellows, shouting over the din of the industrial-size lawnmower and hedge trimmers. "Yeah, I'm talking to you!"  

I locate the source of the obnoxious hollering. It's a red-faced man in a ballcap leaning out of the driver's window of a shiny pickup truck idling loudly at the curb.

"Why don't you go back to Utah?" He yells at the Latino grounds crew who choose to ignore him.

"Why don't you get out of here before I call the police?" Megs shouts.

Ballcap guy is surprised to see a pretty Caucasian woman confronting him. I'm more than surprised. In fact, I'm frozen in place. 

What are you doing, Megs?

One of the workers turns off his mower and slowly backs away from the truck.

"Go back to where you came from," Ballcap guy hollers at the workers. Then to Megs he snarls, "Cops don't want their kind around here, either."

"Let's find out," she shouts, pulling her phone from her shoulder bag.

While my wife dials, I keep my eyes fixed on the hot-tempered unpredictable guy in the truck. Is he about to draw a gun, plow over the landscaping crew with his truck, or turn his anger on Megan?

I can hear a voice through her speaker. "This is 911. What is your emergency?"

"There's a man making threats and--"

Before she can complete her sentence, Ballcap guy stomps the accelerator. His monster truck tires scream, leaving a billowing black cloud when he speeds down the drive and onto the main road.

"He's gone." She ends the call.

The man with the hedge clippers smiles at Megs and gives her a thank you nod.

She returns the smile and stuffs the phone into her bag.

"Who was that crazy guy in the loud truck?" Jillian asks.

"Some imbecile," Megs replies as she forces a weak smile.

I marvel at how quickly Megan's mom-mind converted her automatic response of "some racist asshole" into "some imbecile" before it slipped out of her mouth.

"That imbecile didn't even make any sense," I say as we walk toward the building. "I guess there's a slight chance those guys could be Mormons but I kind of doubt it."

At 9:32, we enter the vacant lobby and ride the elevator up to the second floor. My wife and daughter follow me down the hallway to a set of glass doors adorned with a translucent green and blue logo: Dunning & Brannigan. I swipe my key card and open the door. We enter the small reception area in the modest office suite. 

On the wall is a framed reproduction of a rustic wooden covered bridge with a little stream running beneath it. It's the kind of wall art you see at doctors' offices and in some hotel rooms. I believe these images are intended to evoke a sense of serenity but actually, they make me kind of sad. To me, the babbling brook symbolizes life trickling away beneath the covered bridge of regrets. Obviously, my mental health pills aren't working as designed. 

I point. "That's my office right there beside the conference room."

Jillian scampers in. "This is awesome! Way nicer than your old office."

"It's missing something," I reply and set my briefcase on my desk. I open it and retrieve my homemade pencil holder, carefully setting it in place.

"There. That's better."

Jilly-bean grins. 

"You're the only one in this space?" Megan asks. "Smells like fresh paint."

"Carl said that he's interviewing for the Administrative Assistant position. But yeah, so far I'm the only one here."

My daughter notices the familiar Aunt Betsy's Homemade Donuts logo on a file folder on my desk.

"You get free donuts?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I will."

"Save me one, okay?"

I smile at Megs. "I'll be leading the communications initiative to let the donut-eating public know that Aunt Betsy products contain no harmful preservatives."

"They don't, do they?" Megs asks.

"Nope. I won't need to misinform. Or outright lie. This is going to be a nice change."

                                                                                      #######

At 10:38 we drive out of the parking lot.

"Can we stop at the store to buy my aquariums?" Jillian asks.

"Aquariums?"

"For the Scholastic STEM-Tastic Contest. I talked to Mom about this."

I look over at my wife.

Jillian continues. "I'm going to have one aquarium filled with regular grass and weeds, you know, from our yard. And the other one will have grass, like this stuff." She gestures at the almost neon green grass flanking the roadways throughout the office park.

Megs explains, "People will be able to look through the glass and see that the chemical-free lawn has earthworms and ants and other living insects living in the turf, while the other lawn is a dead-zone. Right?"

"Right." Jilly-bean grins. 

"That sounds pretty awesome," I reply.

"Do you think you could help me get a piece of chemicalized lawn? Maybe from the neighbors?"

"How big of a piece do you need?"

"Just to fill the bottom of the aquarium. A small aquarium."

"I'll ask," I say with a fake smile on my face. 

There's not a chance in hell my neighbor, Josh will allow me or anyone else to dig up a section of his prized lawn. Every blade of grass in his yard is accounted for. As we drive out of the office park I look into the rearview mirror at the emerald green office park landscaping and at the lawn maintenance crew. Maybe one of those guys can help me out.