Walter had been working for New York state for close to ten years now, and it was a fine enough job to do. It wasn’t as exciting as working on the power grid, but a person his age shouldn’t be working upon the power lines. He would break something, and if not himself, then something of high value. He had his pension, and that was that. He wasn’t one of those youngbloods who were out there clearing the snow or making sure the power lines stayed up in weather like this. Not anymore.
No, Walter just made sure the rest stops were fine, and fine they usually were. The rest stops were nice and quiet enough places. He never had to talk to anyone. Mostly in weather like this, all he had to do was clear the snow from the paths, make sure none of the toilets were clogged, and make sure to run the heat. That last part was the important one, especially in the winter. The last thing anyone needed was for the pipes to freeze and burst open, causing a magnitude of problems that Walter wouldn’t be able to deal with, and would have to call someone else to come to fix.
The plows had already been through, but they would need to be back through again. Already the snow was covering the salt and sand that they had put down, and it wasn’t like the sand was going to do much that morning either, with it being as cloudy as it was. But they would do a good job, Walter was sure of it.
The stops were probably already plowed, with one giant pile of snow being at the end of the parking lots. If any of them were still around, Walter would make sure to thank them for their work. Snow plow drivers were the unsung heroes of upstate New York, and he had known quite a few of them over the years.
One of his buddies in AA had used to be a plow driver. Bob had been a good enough guy, or about as good of a guy that an alcoholic who beats his wife could be (which in Walter’s estimate wasn’t all that great). This was, of course, before he swallowed a bunch of pills and only managed to kill half of himself. Walter used to go see him. Taking the pills had only done half the job, meaning that they either hadn’t been strong enough to kill him completely, or he didn’t take enough. Considering how bad he had been at all his other life choices, Walter figured that the answer to that question was a little bit of both.
Regardless, Bob spent the remainder of his days in a nursing home. Sure there was nothing wrong with him mentally, except for half his brain not working, that was. He could only move the left side of his body, with the right side sort of dropping down and undefined.
The last time Walter had seen him, he had been doing about as well as a man in his situation could do. Sometimes Walter would send a card, but no more visits.
He wondered if anyone would visit him if he ever got like that.
Walter drove onto I-88 in silence.
****
When he arrived at the first stop, everything looked fine.
Stop 15 was, of the three that Walter looked after, the one with the least amount of problems. There were enough parking spaces, and the toilets were never clogged. All he had to do was change the trash, which wasn’t that hard, considering that Walter didn’t think anyone had been there the night before. The rest stops were left open at night, or at least most of the time they were. If there was too much snow, the stop would be closed, the doors locked, and a sign covering the entrance would inform people that they wouldn’t be able to find any solitude at the stop. They couldn’t let people park there since the plows would have to get through.
The night before the stop hadn’t been locked, but if the snow kept up, Walter wasn’t going to throw away the possibility that he might say to hell with it and lock it. Less stuff for him to clean up.
There weren’t any homeless people at the stop, which was always lovely. Walter didn’t like having to deal with them, not in the mornings. Every once and awhile, one of them would come out of the woods or walk down the thruway/highway and make their way to the stop, hoping for shelter. Walter would sigh when it happened. When he was younger, he’d probably have taken the shotgun out of the back of his truck, or his sidearm from his belt, shoved it in their face, and told them to get the hell off New York state property, and that they could take their troubles and lousy life decisions elsewhere.
But that wouldn’t fly, and so he’d call the cops. The troopers who covered this stretch of land were pretty nice guys and one pretty nice girl. They sometimes stopped at one of his stops, saw his truck, and would come into the office and talk. It was a friendly enough company for Walter. Usually, they’d bring lunch with them and want to sit somewhere that wasn’t in their car. The offices of the rest stop workers had a few chairs and plenty of places to eat. Plus, they had the heat.
Of course, Walter didn’t think he’d see any of them that day, though. They were probably on high alert, waiting for the inevitable car crash. Some of the troopers had confessed to Walter over the years, whenever they heard of an accident over the radio, that they prayed slightly that it had involved only one person, and that that person was dead as a result of it.
Now, that was something that they could only share in private since if anyone heard that, they might get the wrong
