I stopped at a coffee shop this morning solely to put some business cards in a little holder I keep on their refrigerator there. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother. Their coffee is probably the worst in the Beltway, they they definitely benefit from that maxim “location, location, location.” Their barristas also seem to start the day at “pissed off” and their attitudes go downhill from there.

At any rate, I stopped outside the shop around 6:45 this morning. I reached for a handful of business cards which I conveniently keep in a pile on the passenger side floor, and split the deck numerous times trying to guess the right number for the card holder slot. I didn’t realize how out of it I was, but that should have been a clue, because the effort to choose the right number of cards took an obscenely long time. I mention this because when I finally frustrated the hell out of myself, I bolted from the truck like a cannon ball and shot the locked door behind me.

You know the feeling in the millisecond after you do it. “Ohhh, shiiii–”

Before the sound of the door slamming had even ceased to echo off the surrounding buildings, a man came up to me and asked if we were hiring.

“You probably don’t want to work for a company run by a moron,” I said.

Undeterred, he pressed on until I told him we were more than fully staffed. Then I explained the situation with the truck.

“Here’s what we can do,” he said. “You can use my bike to get to your office, get your keys, and bring the bike back.” For the service, he only asked for $8 so he could get to a job interview in Rockville — quite a haul from Old Town. That seemed like an unusually specific amount, so I believed that’s all he wanted. (Yes, I know that’s a bit much for a Metro fee, but he was potentially saving my butt.)

“Sure,” I said, and took what I thought was a homeless man’s bike.

It was about a mile ride, maybe two. There was always someone at the office, and crew leader Pete was on the first job of the day, so I hoped he’d be there.

Nope. It was a ghost town. I waited 30 minutes for no one to show up. Oh, did I mention my office keys were on the keychain in my truck?

Phone rings. It’s some guy from the horrible coffee shop. “George needs his bike back. He needs to get to his interview.”

Eff. So now I’m probably costing an unemployed guy a job.

I booked it back, pissing off commuters all along the way. George was there, very concerned about me, not his potential job interview. I apologize profusely and gave him $20.

“It’s alright,” he said, “My wife is late anyway.”

Wait — he needs to pay his wife to get to the interview? Never mind.

We chatted for a second while I texted Pete (“Give me a ride now!)

“I’ll try my girlfriend,” George said.

Girlfriend? Oh, George…

I ended up walking back to the office. So, for those keeping track, that’s one bike ride to and from the office, and one little hike on foot.

Pete was there, as was everyone else. They probably got there just after I left. My spare truck key, however, was not in the secret place as it had been for two years. The little clicker transmitter was, though, but I hadn’t used it in at least three years, so who knows?

Pete gave me a ride, and I explained to my wife via text what was happening. “You know we have Triple A, right?”

Yes. Yes, I did know that. I even organized my wallet recently and found the card.

“Do you need the AAA information?” she asked.

“Uh, no.”

And all that was before 8:00. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

UPDATE: The guys forgot to bring tools to the job, so I have to run to the job site with the tool bag. Did I mention that this is Tuesday, one of two days a week where I take the afternoon off so my wife can do what she needs to do (it’s impossible to get anything done with two babies at home.)

Productivity? Maybe Wednesday.

I remember the interview I had with her. I was sure I had no chance — the Times was A BIG D.C. PAPER, and I only had a couple of clips under my belt from an internship a few months before. Looking back on them now, they all sucked, but they were all I had. In the end, she hired me in part because — I’m sure of this — she said I reminded her of her son.

I later met her son. He’s a Captain in the Army, I believe, and an usher at our church. Solid guy. I learned that her observation was a great compliment.

Mary Lou was easy to work for. Maybe too easy. But she knew the news business inside and out, and I learned a ton from her. And whenever I forced myself to go to some journalistic event, I would always check the table of name tags for hers even long after I’d left the Times. The last time was just a couple of months ago. My wife is a Philips Foundation fellow, and we went to the Press Club for the latest Philips Foundation fellowship winners’ dinner. Grace, Mary Lou and I spent a lot of time together (as far as a “lot of time” goes at these things). I got her a glass of wine. We had some laughs. It was a real pleasure to spend time with such a gracious, wonderful woman.

I wish I’d known that was going to be the last time I ever saw her.

But I think what I’ll remember about her the most is seeing her red hair on the left side of the aisle at St. Mary’s. We used to sit up in the choir loft (little Joe is a handful sometimes), and when my attention would wander, I’d look for Mary Lou. More often than not, there she’d be. And now, she’s looking down from somewhere above on us.