Death drives a Gator.

The employee whose walk I likened to George Jefferson's appears emaciated. He doesn't like me, so he scowls every time we drive by each other. (But he's a very negative individual, so he doesn't like most of his coworkers, either.) Today, his pickup truck was out of service yet again, so he had to borrow one of the John Deere Gators and was in a worse than usual mood. Also today (and because the Gator he borrowed doesn't have an enclosed cab, as mine does), it was chilly, so he had a black, hooded jacket on.

Imagine, if you will, encountering a gaunt, black-hooded figure showing little of his face, but what you can see of it is not friendly in the least. "And how was your day, dear?"