THE RELIABILITY FACTOR

It wasn’t always that way—Mr. Grimmett arriving and leaving the prison via bus, cab, or my 1992 Ford Tempo. After six months on the job he had bought a brand new Oldsmobile Achieva and his punctuality soon improved. He took me to lunch one day to the Nevada Coney Island on the corner of Ryan and Nevada Roads; ironically, the restaurant was within walking distance of our facility (if you chose to travel by foot and risk your safety). I’d heard that Mr. Grimmett walked there often, prior to purchasing his new set of wheels.

I complemented him on his wise choice in vehicles and he expressed a sense of relief for not having to rely on cabs or Detroit’s never-on-time bus system.

“Whatever you want, JR. My treat,” he said.

I didn’t mind him paying for my lunch, after all, I did offer him rides now and then, however, the menu had nothing but greasy, unhealthy, artery-clogging food. Yet, I felt compelled to celebrate with him.

I’m not sure how much time elapsed, but one day I saw him getting into a yellow checkered cab outside our facility. I thought nothing of it until it became part of his normal routine once again.

“Grimmett,” I said, “where’s your car?”

He told me that he no longer drove it to work for fear of it being repossessed. At first I thought he was joking until he informed me of his elaborate plan of moving it around from house to house. “The repo man will never find it,” he said.

It seemed all too complicated to me. I offered a simple solution, “Why don’t you continue making your car payments?”

He railed against the ineptness of the car dealership, how they never fixed a reoccurring problem, and how he threatened and made good on forgoing future payments. I didn’t pry any further, although I suspect he’d spent most of his money on having a good time with several of his lady friends.