Frog on the Stoop

There at the door, in the rain, I see the frog. He or she is up against the glass door, and has jumped into it, only to be knocked back to the stoop, still facing the door, with a look of panic. I will not hurt the poor thing; I set my McDonald's bag against the door too, out of the rain. It's a large sack, with a rope-like handle, sealed by stickers in three places, so the frog will not get into it.

Just twenty minutes earlier, I'd been sitting in my car, waiting for a door-dash offer. The rain had started. I was wondering what had become of my life. I'd done lots of interesting things, gone to far corners of the world, had a professional career, yet here I was, waiting, hoping, to get the chance to take someone some fast food in the rain. The desperation is simple. I need the money. A single order may be only three or four bucks, but I need it. When I get the offer I take it immediately. I don't care about the rain, don't care that it's McDonald's, or that it's very late at night and anything can happen in those fast-food places. In the McDonald's I make sure it's the right order. I vaguely know the people there, and some of the small-town drama of their lives, but this is one of those nights that I'd rather not know anything; I'd like to just pick up the order and get out of there, and that's what I do. Doordash reminds me to check to make sure I've got the drinks, but at McDonald's they put the drinks into the large bag before I even see it, and I can't look inside because it's sealed shut with stickers.

Out on the highway, the rain is picking up and I have a very small car, so small that, during a torrential downpour, I worry about the puddles swallowing up the car, and me, floating away downstream, into raging floodwaters racing inevitably toward the Mississippi. That doesn't seem to be happening yet, but still, because the order is a couple of miles from town, I have the luxury of just driving in the rain, and not worrying too much about traffic, sudden stops, yellow lights, bicycles in the road. It's just me and the car and the wet highway, the smell of McDonald's, and the steady beat of the windshield wipers.

At the house, there's the frog. The frog kind of speaks to me with panic and desperation. But I'm not about to scoop it out of the way. Maybe it's my feeling about handling food, even though I'm only handling the bag, and even though I'm already done handling the bag; I've set it on the stoop already, and I'm getting my phone ready to take the picture.

Doordash wants me to take a picture of the bag, up against the door, so that it documents that I actually put it there before I left. That picture goes immediately to the customer who now knows it's there and it is on that one certain stoop, as opposed to maybe the side door or some neighbor's door. But the question is whether to include the frog in the picture. I really don't feel like I have much choice. The frog is right beside the bag, and I take the picture, frog and all. I'm just documenting the situation.

On the way home the rain really opens up and pours. Now I'm a little worried about the car, but I make it back into town ok, and the streets are pretty empty, so where high water has taken over the edges, I just drive toward the center and stay out of it. Back home, I'm relieved; it's late, everyone has gone to bed, but I've made it, and can start peeling off shoes and wet clothes. The phone is off; I've taken my last order.