Subliminal Possibility

In the northern hills of San Diego lies Rancho Bernardo, a master-planned community dating back to 1962. Signs bearing aspirationally-named subdivisions like Playmor and Fairway Vistas welcome its residents with subliminal possibility. As I drove my Project-19 route through this carefully manicured community, I wondered... whose dreams had faded enough to need a humble box of groceries laid upon their doorstep?

My first stop took me to a wooded development with winding roads and expansive, stately homes. Puzzled by the contrast between this locale and the modest bungalows I usually serve, I double-checked Google Maps. Yep, I was in the right place.

I parked at the top of the long driveway and unloaded a grocery box. (This week’s “haul” was abundant—much to my delight and my back’s dismay.) As I walked down the home’s elegant front path, a broad, ornate double door towered before me. I placed the box at my feet and rang the bell. “Westminster Quarters” played melodically from the old-school doorbell which immediately begged the question,

When will my Ring doorbell become just as anachronistic?

From behind the glass, a somewhat irritated male voice commanded me to “Drop it at the garage, please” and so I reclaimed the box and wandered around the side of this majestic home to do just that.

When I turned the corner, the home’s polished facade dissipated and revealed a faded 1970 Mercedes-Benz 250 sedan—forlorn and sunken into the gravel. Tires flat, it drooped before me. Was this one-time status symbol a trophy, perhaps the result of a year-end partnership bonus? Did it offer midnight joyrides to the mischievous teenagers who sneaked the keys when no one was looking?

At my next stop, I encountered another relic, a vintage turntable collecting dust and debris on the doorstep. I sat my box beside it and envisioned its former self, a gleaming gadget on display at a nearby Federated store. Was it a gift? Or something hard-earned?

Did its needle skip, the result of one joyous boogie too many?

Its owner wasn’t home and so I left her delivery, the turntable, and my questions behind.

My route continued more typically—boxes at doorsteps, boxes at doorsteps—until I reached my last destination. There, in an otherwise pristine neighborhood, sat another carcass from the past—a broken electric stove, discarded on the curb and surrounded by a well-coiffed suburban landscape. Its burners were missing. In their place, cavernous holes collected the occasional falling leaf.

How many meals had this once modern appliance enabled? Did its owner double-check it before leaving on a road trip? Was it the source of family meals or lonely dinners for one? Still pondering, I completed my route and drove home in what will surely one day become an artifact itself.

Fifteen boxes delivered. Three encounters with abandoned remnants of the past. One heart filled with many questions.

And not a single answer in sight.