It's Quite A Ride… Stories With Jenn

It had to be about 1996. I was working at Wendy’s as a dining room attendant. This was back when the chain still had its salad bar, at a time when kale was used for looks and not to eat. Hard to believe, I know, but I spent a lot of time throwing away the kale used to cover the ice on the salad bar and replacing it to keep it looking green and inviting. At no time did anyone grab the kale off the ice and say, “you know, this looks really good. I think I’ll eat this,” but I digress.  

There was a particular day where I had been fighting with my husband, about what I don’t recall, but I was in the dining room crying while wiping down tables. I remember feeling so defeated and unsure about our marriage. We were still newlyweds. We rushed things, or rather, I rushed things.  

As I was cleaning a table, a co-worker I barely knew walked up to me. He wasn’t from my hometown and he hadn’t been working there long. I can’t remember his name but he was tall with dark hair. He was nice.  

Time often helps you romanticize certain events in your life. It creates nostalgia and even a longing for people and places. This day in time is no different. When he approached me, I was embarrassed. It was one of the many times in my early life that my painfully shy nature created an awkward moment where I would have gladly fallen through the floor to escape.  

While the specifics of our conversation and those moments are lost to time and my poor memory, there are two things I never forgot. He said, “I am getting ready to hop on my bike and leave town and I wondered if you would go with me?” It was shocking in the moment and as if the universe was trying to send me some sort of signal, I realized that Roll to Me by Del Amitri was playing on the radio in the dining room.  

I don’t know if my shock was evident. I’ve always been told I have a terrible poker face. A big part of me, and the gypsy part of my soul, wanted to tell him yes. The thought of just leaving and starting over somewhere new seemed glorious. The part of me that was scared and shy won out that day though. I told him I couldn’t do it. I’m sure I said something about needing to work on my marriage, and that I couldn’t do that to my husband.  

He didn’t push and within a couple of days, he was gone. A drifter on his way to his next adventure.  

How many times over the years I have wondered what might have happened if I had taken him up on his offer. How would my life have changed? He may have been a serial killer. He may have just been a guy with a gypsy soul, like me, never staying put and always heading for the next thing. That’s how I like to think of him.  

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As I do with many of my most impactful memories, I had a motorcycle and the title of the song that was playing that day, “Roll to Me,” tattooed on my arm. I love the memory and I enjoy recalling the tale when someone asks what the tattoo means.  

While it never ended up being with me, I hope he found the adventure he was looking for.