We have an admin in our office who’s like a modern-day character from Rickshaw Boy. Her biggest dream is to buy her own car. Not a fancy one. Just something so she can drive for Uber after work to earn extra cash, and maybe, just maybe, take her mom out to see the sunset over the prairie someday. It’s not an impossible dream. But every single time she scrapes together enough for the down payment, life finds a new way to body-slam her. I thought about calling her "Hustler," after that old novel, but that felt... tacky. So I’ll just call her "Tiger Girl." (1) I’m the one who hired Tiger Girl. To be honest, I almost didn't. Her resume was rough. She wasn't pretty, and her education was thin—an online bachelor's degree. Standing there, she was the textbook definition of a small-town girl who’d never seen the world. Her only real asset was her height, but she was so rail-thin she looked like a bundle of firewood saved for a long winter. The second she walked into the interview, she gave me this big, goofy grin. "Hi, Ma'am. I'm here for the interview." I had to stop myself from laughing. I've been in HR for ten years, and this was the first time an applicant ever called me "Ma'am" like I was her high school principal. It was completely unprofessional. And redundant. Of course you're here for the interview, kid, why else would you be here? I asked her to tell me about herself. She froze, then that nervous grin got even wider. She stammered through a whole lot of nothing, which I eventually translated to: "I'm a really hard worker." I thought, I’m not hiring for a loading dock. What good is 'hard work' to me? I asked a couple of generic questions, just trying to wrap it up and get to the next candidate. She seemed better suited for a night shift at a gas station. She must have seen the impatience on my face. Her smile was stiffer than the cheap, faded blouse she was wearing. "Okay, that's all for today. We'll be in touch if there's an update." I gave her the standard rejection line, signaling she could leave. She didn't say anything, just gave me this deep, formal bow and walked out. I figured that was that. Just another forgettable face in a long line of interviews. This one just happened to be a little dim. "Ma'am? I'm sorry... could I ask you for one more thing?" I looked up from my desk. She had poked her head back in. "Uh... what is it?" "Well... if you're not gonna hire me... could I have my resume back?" She said it so sheepishly, her face went bright red, all the way to her ears. "It's fine, we have a shredder. Your information will be secure," I said, a little annoyed. I figured she was worried about identity theft. Great, unqualified and paranoid. "No, no, that's not it..." she stammered. "It's just... that's a color copy. I was thinking... if you don't need it, I could use it for my next interview... just, you know, to save a little money..." Her voice got smaller and smaller, and by the end, she was staring at the carpet. "Ah," I said, pausing. "You just wait for our call. Your chances are actually pretty good." For some reason, I didn't give her the resume back. The kid was... interesting. (2) I ended up hiring her. An admin-clerk spot, $3,000 a month. The girl was clearly struggling. I figured I’d do my good deed for the year. I’m not bragging when I say it was a tiny decision for me. The job is basic data entry; anyone could do it. It was so minor that even after she started, I barely noticed her. But she noticed me. Every time she saw me, it was "Hi, Ma'am!" this, "Thanks, Ma'am!" that. It was honestly annoying. We didn't even work in the same department. Why was she acting like we were old pals? So I mostly ignored her. A quick nod in the hallway, that's it. Until the day we ran into each other at a car dealership. It was during that big Chevy promotion. They were pushing the new Trax for something like $22,800. I was thinking of getting one for my dad—something simple for groceries and picking up the grandkids. It's cheap, you can't really go wrong. "Ma'am!" I'd just walked in when I heard someone call me. I turned around, and there was Tiger Girl, beaming at me. "Ma'am, you're looking at cars, too?" She was still in her usual, slightly frumpy clothes. This was the last place I expected to see her. "Oh, hey. Yeah, just browsing..." I said, defaulting to my usual brush-off. "Wow, your family's loaded and you're looking at a Chevy?" she said, with total seriousness. "You should be driving a BMW! A Mercedes!" If she wasn't so obviously sincere, I would've thought she was mocking me. The truth is, I'm not "loaded." My husband and I make decent money, but with the mortgage, two car payments, the kids' college funds, and helping our parents... there's never enough. We have an Audi, sure, but that's mostly just to keep up appearances. "Heh. It's for my dad. Just need something cheap to get groceries and pick up the kids," I said, still putting on a bit of a front. "Oh, for your dad? Well, the Trax is perfect! It’s cheap, great on gas, the value is amazing!" She started rattling off specs—range, horsepower, cargo space. I didn't know a thing about any of it. All I knew was that this girl, in her worn-out shoes, seemed completely out of place talking about new cars. "So... you're... looking for a car?" I finally asked. "I am! As soon as I get my next paycheck, I'll have enough for the down payment!" She smiled, a little embarrassed. "Then I can start driving for Uber after work. It's gotta pay better than my weekend shift at the 7-Eleven, right?" She leaned in. "And... I really want to take my mom to see the sunset on the prairie." She told me her parents divorced when she was little. Her mom remarried, but as a woman with a kid from a previous marriage, she'd had to live her whole life "very, very carefully." "My mom... she's had it so tough. I'm not a big shot or anything, but I just want to be able to drive her somewhere nice. She always said she wanted to see the prairie at sunset. And I'm almost there, Ma'am! I almost have the money!" The pain in her story was obvious, but her voice was pure joy. "Hey, I'll let you in on a secret," she whispered, leaning closer. "They're having their big 4th of July sale next month. You can save at least another grand! We could buy them together!" "Oh. Yeah, sure. That sounds great," I stammered. Suddenly, my whole impression of her shifted. This kid was stronger than me. I’d had a straight, easy path: loving parents, college, job, marriage. I'd never once had to think about what would happen if my life fell apart. And this goofy, "bundle of firewood" kid had this core of steel and loyalty. "It's a date, then, Ma'am! Next month! We'll be official Chevy owners!" She gave me a little "yay" wave and practically bounced out of the showroom. "Ma'am? You know that girl?" The saleswoman had come up behind me. "Huh? Oh, not really. She's just a clerk at my company. Why?" The saleswoman rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Her. She's in here every other weekend. Test drives the Trax, never buys. Been doing it for a year. Everyone here knows her." (3) After that, I actually researched the Trax. My dad liked it. So, the decision was made. I just had to wait for the sale, like Tiger Girl said. But I waited. And waited. The 4th of July sale was almost over, and I hadn't heard a word from her. I kept hearing the saleswoman's voice: ...never buys. Been doing it for a year. Was she just messing with me? Fine. If you're not going to call, I'm just going myself. I thought about it, then decided to call her. "Hey, Tiger Girl. You still want to buy that car with me? The sale ends this weekend." "Oh... Ma'am..." Her voice on the phone was small and tight. "I'm so sorry. I don't think I can... something came up with my family." You've got to be kidding me. Your $3,000-a-month salary can barely cover rent, let alone a car. I never should have believed you. I hung up without another word and took my dad to get his car. It wasn't until later that I realized how cold that was. She said something was wrong, and I didn't even ask. So much for being the "Ma'am" she was always so nice to. But I only realized it on Monday. I was planning to swing by her desk, maybe flash my new keys, but she wasn't there. I asked HR. They told me Tiger Girl had taken a one-month leave. Her stepfather had a massive stroke. I felt a wave of shame. She was telling the truth. I called her immediately. "Tiger Girl? It's me. How's your father? Is there anything I can do? If you need anything, seriously, don't hesitate to ask." "Oh, thank you, Ma'am..." She sounded exhausted. The background was dead quiet. "He had a stroke, but... he's out of surgery. The doctors say he's stable... Thank you for asking." "Do you have enough money? If you're short, I can lend you some. Don't worry about paying it back right away." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. What if she said yes? But she paused, and then her voice firmed up. "No... no, it's okay. We're okay. The relatives all chipped in. Thank you, though, Ma'am. I'm just... sorry I couldn't buy the car with you. I saw your picture on Facebook. It looks so great! Congratulations, you're an official Chevy owner!" She was trying so hard to sound happy for me, but I could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Life is so damn random. She had worked so hard for that stupid car, and in the face of one medical bill, that little dream evaporated. My guilt deepened. I mumbled a few more things and got off the phone. A month later, Tiger Girl came back to the office. The goofy energy was gone. She just looked... tired. This young girl, forced to carry half her family's weight. "Tiger Girl," I said, stopping her in the hall. "How's your dad? Is he recovering?" "A lot better, Ma'am. He can't get out of bed yet, so I moved him into my apartment. It's just easier to take care of him here." She tucked her hair behind her ear. Suddenly, she looked like an adult. A very weary adult. "Here. This is just a little something from me. Don't say no. Get your dad some... I don't know, fruit or something." I shoved an envelope with a few hundred bucks into her hand. The world is cruel. This was all I could do. "No, Ma'am, I can't take your money!" She tried to shove it back, mortified. "I'm fine, Ma'am, really! I... I started a new side gig. I sell hot dogs from a cart at the subway station after work. It pays really well!" She practically threw the envelope back into my bag, and as if to prove her point, she added, "The money is great! Once I save up for a few months, I'll have the down payment again!" My God. In this freezing cold? "How do you even manage?" I asked, horrified. "You have to take care of your dad." "It's okay! I get off work, go home, make him dinner, feed him, get him settled, and then I go to my cart. I can handle it! Hehe. Business is good. It won't be long, and I'll be able to buy that car!" As soon as she said "car," her eyes lit up again. In that second, I understood. The car wasn't just a car. It was hope. It was the one thing that proved a normal, broke-ass girl like her could still make it in this city. "You're right," I said, forcing a smile. "I believe you. Things will get better, and you will get that car." (4) An adult's life is a blur. I had my own work, my own family, my own battles trying to look like I had it all together. Despite my sympathy for Tiger Girl, I soon forgot about her struggles. We all have our own lives to live. Seven or eight months passed. I hadn't spoken to her in ages. Then, one day, my phone rang. "Ma'am? Is your car due for its first service soon?" I was stunned. I'd completely forgotten. The car was my dad's problem. I couldn't believe she'd remembered. "Uh... I think so? I'm not sure..." "Well, I can go with you! And... I can look at cars again! Hehe, I saved up the down payment... again!" She told me her 25th birthday was in a few days. She'd saved up. She was going to buy the car as a present to herself. "The down payment is smaller this time, so the monthly will be higher... but between my job and the cart, I think I can just barely swing it." Her voice was full of that old excitement. "Tiger Girl, that's... that's amazing! Congratulations! Okay, tomorrow. You come with me for the service, and I'm buying you lunch." I couldn't believe it. This kid was like a weed. Life burns her to the ground, and she just sprouts right back up. The next morning, I drove to the address she sent me. It was an ancient, crumbling apartment building in the middle of nowhere. I couldn't imagine the bus transfers it took her to get to work every day, or how she managed to drag that hot dog cart miles to the subway. When I got there, I tossed her the keys. "You drive." She was all shy at first, but the second her hands touched the wheel, she lit up like a kid on Christmas. "Wow, this is SO COOL, Ma'am! You really can just... go anywhere! I'm definitely buying one!" Her hands were locked on the wheel at ten and two, but she was smiling so wide I thought her face would crack. At the service center, she was more invested than I was. She hovered over the mechanic like a hawk. "Sir, are you sure that filter is seated properly? Sir, I asked for the full synthetic, right?" She was relentless, asking a million questions that were somehow both stupid and necessary. Watching her, I suddenly remembered myself ten years ago, when my husband and I bought our first house. I was just like her, micromanaging the contractors, questioning every single charge. Nobody likes being that person. Life just forces you to be. That house was my proof that I'd finally made it in this city. This car was hers. After the service, I took her for Korean BBQ. She was hissing and fanning her mouth from the spice, her face flushed and happy in the steam. If she ever bought herself some makeup or a decent outfit, she'd actually be pretty. But she'd poured every bit of herself into her broken family and her little dream. Looking pretty was a luxury she couldn't afford. The thought made me sad, but pity isn't something you say out loud. So I just kept piling meat onto her grill. "Thanks, Ma'am! You eat, too! This is so good! I haven't had BBQ in... God, I can't remember. Not since my dad got sick." She let out a huge sigh of satisfaction, then immediately clammed up. "Sorry, Ma'am. I shouldn't have said that. Hehe." "It's okay," I said gently. "Eat. You're exhausted. It must be so hard, taking care of him." "Ugh, you don't even know, Ma'am," she said, stuffing her face. "Taking care of a sick person is harder than both my jobs combined. You gotta feed him, bathe him, deal with... you know... the bedpan. You have to turn him every two hours so he doesn't get bedsores. And he's a patient, you know? So if one little thing isn't right, he yells at me. The good news is, he can't move, so even when we fight, he can't really do anything!" She was complaining, but she was smiling. She wasn't bitter; she was just... venting. "Hehe, but that's all in the past! Once I get the car, it'll be so much easier to take him to his checkups! And I can drive Uber! The hot dog cart is fine, but man, winter is cold..." She chugged her Coke, and I noticed her hands. They were chapped and raw, the knuckles red. "Well, it is in the past," I said, raising my own glass. "Here's to your dad's recovery. And to you... the soon-to-be proud owner of a new Chevy." We were finishing up, and she was groaning, totally stuffed, rambling on about her plans, when her phone rang. "Huh? My brother? He probably needs money again..." She'd told me about him. Her stepbrother. Just turned 18, working as an apprentice at some hair salon. "He's just a kid," she'd said. "Always needs a little help." She answered. "Hey! Need cash again? I'm out eating... What?! A FIRE? Did you call 911?! Are you okay? Okay, okay, I'm on my way! Right now!"
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