The vehicle emissions guy handed me a slip of paper, explained stoically that my car had failed the test, and pointed me to a nearby administrative office. There, I found a man with long gray hair, an earring and wide, striking blue eyes sitting behind a desk. He welcomed me and proceeded to do what he has done about a zillion times: He smiled sympathetically, gave me paperwork, explained what steps I needed to take to pass the next time. There was little or no small talk, but he was friendly and about as Zen a civil servant as I have ever come across. Then he noticed I had paid a $35 late fee. He asked me, gravely, what had accounted for this. He sounded like my father. I said I was a flake and had waited too long to get the emissions test done. He told me to wait a minute, looked on the Internet, and printed out a form-- a waiver that he said I should fill out immediately to get my $35 back. "The state doesn't need the money," he said, "poor people do." Nice sentiment, except for the fact that I am not poor, I thought. So he waved me off and that was that. He does this with everybody, I know. He interacts with the world two minutes at a time and with a calm, rare generosity. Nothing terribly remarkable, I guess, except for how good it made me feel.