Lost in Seattle With Mete Mario

Me, Lynn Barnett, and Mete 1998
at the NSF ATE Conference in Washington, DC

The drizzle came down on the rental. Mete drove and Alberto sat beside him looking at his
watch. I was in the back seat.

"Six o'clock," Alberto said.

"I know it."

Mete's face was set. His jaw was tight but his hands were loose on the wheel. We had been driving through the neighborhoods for some time. There was no map. I had said I knew the way from the hotel but I did not know it. The houses were small with well kept yards. The streets all looked the same in the drizzle.

We had meetings for three days. Microsoft and the American Association of Community Colleges had set up a program called Working Connections. The three of us were community college faculty. Our colleges were part of the program. 1998 was a good time. The internet was taking off. Everyone was building websites. Microsoft was fighting Netscape for the browser war and spending big. Y2K was coming and everyone needed help. Windows NT was everywhere. Microsoft was winning and they knew it. You could feel the energy. The campus in Redmond was new buildings and green lawns. Long meeting days but they treated us like royalty. Community college faculty getting the executive treatment. Everything was first class. They fed us well - I fondly remember the swizzle sticks for our coffee. and of course - the chair massages. The presentations were sharp. Everyone wore khakis and button-downs. One guy wore a kilt. No ties. The hotel was downtown Seattle. Marble floors and doormen. The beds were comfy. Views spectacular. We bussed back and forth to Redmond. Now, we were lost in the neighborhoods where people lived.

"Turn left," I said.

"You know?"

"No."

He turned his head but his eyes never left the road. He did not look worried. The street curved back. Alberto watched his watch. The drizzle was steady now.

"We need to ask," I said.

Mete was already stopping. He knew what to do. An old man came out with his dog. He had no umbrella. Nobody uses them in Seattle. The drizzle was on his head and shoulders. The dog was wet. Mete rolled down the window.

"The airport?"

The man came closer. He looked at us through the drizzle. Water was on his face.

"Sea-Tac?"

"Yes."

"End of the street. Turn right. Five blocks to Aurora. Go south. You'll see the signs for the interstate."

"Thank you."

Mete's face changed. Now he knew. His shoulders relaxed. He drove like he knew. We found Aurora. Then the signs. Then the highway. The drizzle kept coming. Mete's hands were steady on the wheel. His eyes were focused and calm. He moved between the cars and did not use the brakes much. The wipers went back and forth. He never rushed but he was efficient. There was no question we would make it. You could see it in his face.

Alberto looked at his watch at the airport exit. Mete did not look at anything but the road. He knew the time without looking.

Mete pulled to the curb at departures. Smooth. Perfect. Alberto took his bag and got out. The drizzle hit him. He ran for the doors.

We watched him go inside.

I climbed into the front seat.

"Will he make it?"

Mete looked at me. His face was calm. It had been calm the whole time.

"He will."

(He did)

I looked at Mete. He had driven like Mario Andretti. The racing driver. Fast and smooth and never rattled.

"Mario," I said.

"What?"

"Mete Mario."

He smiled a little. It was good.