Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Write for the HUMOR Genre (10/09/14)
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TITLE: Tattered Coveralls | Previous Challenge Entry
By lynn gipson
10/14/14 -
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Having to go back to the office that night to deal with a lazy employee, I pushed the button for the nineteenth floor. I noticed with trepidation the only other lighted button was the one for the twentieth floor. I would have to ride the whole way with this dubious looking stranger.
He looked at me with interest as the elevator door closed, and his eyes lingered a little too long. I thought for a moment about pushing another button and stepping off on the second floor. I told myself I was overreacting, but I shot him my best don’t even think about it, Buster look.
The elevator stopped at the twelfth floor and picked up another passenger. Whew! A meticulously dressed man in a business suit got on with his eyes glued to a computer-printout sheet. He seemed oblivious to either me or the bushy-haired passenger.
"I told you not to sell those bleep-bleep stocks today!" The business man yelled out as the door opened to the thirteenth floor. He ran frantically toward a fellow standing in the hallway, who looked as if he was having an anxiety attack.
So much for security! Meanwhile Tattered Coveralls was smiling at me again.
Just as the elevator approached the eighth floor, there was a sudden loud lurching noise, and we came to a full stop. My heart jumped into my throat.
I looked at Tattered Coveralls. He grinned. This was not looking good.
I furiously began to push all the buttons on the elevator panel, and perspiration popped out all over my forehead. I picked up the emergency phone and heard nothing. I looked at Grinning Tattered Coveralls, and he leaned ever so casually against the elevator wall, with no signs of worry whatsoever.
"Might as well relax, Miss. Looks like we're going to be here awhile." He said in a perfect gentleman's voice.
What was I to do? The mace in my purse would only serve to knock us both out in an elevator.
"My name is Bill Watson, what's yours?" Perfect Gentleman spoke again.
"Macy."
"Well, Macy, you can relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I own this building, and I'm dressed this way because I do most of my own maintenance at night. Saves me a bundle. I let my hair and beard grow because it helps with my other job.”
“So, I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re some kind of undercover cop.” I sarcastically replied.
“No, I’m a street minister for the homeless.”
His voice had a ring of truth, but I was momentarily stunned. I had heard that the owner of the building was big on helping homeless people, but a street minister?
Sensing my doubt, he pulled out his wallet and showed me his identifications. All of them were in the name of William Edward Watson, and his picture was perfect, right down to the bushy hair and long scraggly beard.
Bill casually reached over, picked up the phone, punched a button, and spoke to someone about our predicament. Then he sat down on his side of the elevator.
"Someone is coming to our rescue. They should have the problem fixed in an hour or so. We’ll just have to wait it out.” Bill calmly explained.
Bill and I spent the next two hours talking, and I was happy to find that he, like myself, was a Christian, and we both loved to go fishing.
"Macy, I know we just met, but I would love it if you would go fishing with me sometime." Bill's deep brown eyes met mine with sincerity.
Needless to say, I fell in love with this strange looking creature. All too soon, the elevator jolted, and we were smoothly taken back to the first floor.
Six months later, I married Mr. Tattered Coveralls, and we bought and refurbished an old building and turned it into a homeless shelter. On the weekends, I work there in my old, tattered jeans.
Just goes to show, you can’t judge a man by his coveralls!
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Goes to show, you cannot really judge from the outside, great story!
God bless~