I popped into our local kosher bakery this morning to pick up a loaf of rye. The deeply wrinkled little woman behind the counter asked after my kids; we'd run into her one day in a different part of the city, and it turned out that she lives in the neighborhood where my kids play soccer. It's 45 minutes away by subway, not particularly easy-access from here.
Curious, I asked how she got to work. She said she had to take car service in the morning, because she starts work at 5:30 and the buses aren't running yet. (A car service is like a private taxi company which serves parts of the city not generally covered by yellow cabs.) "I don't mind, though," she said, confidentially, "I've been doing it so many years now."
We moved here almost 16 years ago, and I knew she'd been behind the counter all that time. So I asked how long she'd been working in the bakery. "Oh, thirty years at this location, but fifty years overall," she replied, in a matter-of-fact way. Seeing my astonishment she added, "Well you know, I'm 91 now. I'll be 92 in March."
Some people are truly amazing.