Rarer and rarer are selfless acts committed these days, but this morning I was the recipient of one that I just wanted to share.
After all…we are so bombarded by bad news so often these days that it seems stories like these slip by unnoticed. If there were more stories like these, perhaps people’s hope in humanity would be restored, attitudes would change and this world would truly be a better place.
Wishful thinking? Perhaps. But hey, what do I care? This is after all, my blog.
This morning I got up and went through my usual routine to get ready for work, without an inkling as to the chaos that awaited me outside.
There was an accident on the local Highway (Hwy 11), and they closed it down between the town of Bradford (where I grew up) and Newmarket (where my wife grew up) rerouting all traffic through the small village of Holland Landing (where we live now).
Since I slept through the first few minutes of the local news that emits from my clock radio every morning starting at 6:30, I wasn’t prepared for the unusual traffic congestion that descended on my quiet, sleepy new hometown.
I pulled out of my driveway and made my way out of my neighbourhood to Bradford St.—a street that incidentally leads to Bradford. That is when I got my first indication that something this morning was different. Instead of turning onto Bradford St. and joining the rest of the traffic, I went through the intersection and took a side street, hoping to bypass the backup. This—of course—didn’t happen.
I did get a little further ahead, but I ended up having to merge with everyone else and become part of the jam anyway.
“The nerve of these outsiders” I thought to myself briefly. But I quickly put the thought out of my mind remembering that I was once one of them and I frequently used this route as a shortcut.
At that point, the prospect of me making my train didn’t look too good. So I gave into the fact that I might be driving my sorry ass into work that morning.
I grabbed my cell phone and dialled the house in the hopes that I could catch Tanya in time before she left so that she could maybe find an alternative route to work. Luckily I reached her and filled her in.
“Oh yeah…” she said, “I remember dreaming of an accident on Hwy 11 near Holland Landing.” It wasn’t a dream of course. It was the radio report that we both slept through. Somehow though, it had found its way into her subconscious. Something that probably happens often to those who remember their dreams as vividly as Tanya does. I envy her for that as I rarely remember the contents of my own dreams.
At any rate, I was able to warn Tanya and after hanging up, I turned the radio up hoping to hear the report. They didn’t close Hwy 11 for just any accident. It was a 4-lane Hwy. (2 lanes in either direction), with a grassy divider along most of it. Usually a closure meant a serious accident, perhaps even a death. The possibility wasn’t lost on me, especially since I knew many people in the area who would be on their way to work that morning on that same route.
Traffic began to move a bit faster the closer I got to the main road where the train station was. It hadn’t pulled in yet, I would have seen it since the track crossed the road I was on, on it’s way into the station. My hopes of making my train were looking up. That is until I hit the dreaded lights.
I hate those lights! I hate their stupid guts! Many a morning did I miss my train because of those confounded lights.
You see..in order for me to get to the train station, I have to make a left turn from a country concession, onto a main road. I swear the lights stay green longer for the main road, and the advanced green that we get isn’t very long at all. I often curse drivers who aren’t ready to go when the advanced green lights—my hand is always rested on the horn, ready to give them a little wake up you asshole! beep at the first sign of hesitation. It always seems—in moments like these—that no one else is in as much of a hurry as me.
As I sat there behind a row of cars anxiously awaiting our advanced green, I heard the train’s horn…then I saw the crossing lights come on as the bells rang out and the arms came down.
Now you would think that at this point, a smart civil engineer might think that—since traffic can’t go in that direction any more—maybe we can time the lights so that they switched in the favour of the crossing road, affording people like me the opportunity to still make my train—or is that just my egocentric self thinking wishfully?
At any rate, as the train pulled into the station, the advanced green did flash and I did cut off a couple of unsuspecting right-turners to get into their lane and zip into the station parking lot. I even slowed down a touch as I ripped through the 4-way stop in the parking lot and careened into the first parking spot that would accommodate my Ford Windstar Loser-Cruiser.
The train still sat there with its doors open.
“I think I’m going to make it!” I thought to myself. Surely once the conductor saw me running and saw the effort I made to get there; and that I was running as fast as I could; and that I wasn’t going to hold him up any longer than I had to; surely he would wait for me. But he didn’t.
I had sprinted half the length of the parking lot when I heard Jerry (the conductor) say, “Stand clear from the doors…”
“No!” I thought to myself, “Wait I’m almost there!”
“Please stand clear from the doors…”
“But…”
“The doors are now closing.” And they did.
“Fuck!”
I stood there, dejected and a little humiliated. Why? Because I knew what was happening on that train. I knew the score. I knew passengers were sitting smug in their warm, cozy seats looking out at the poor people running for the train out in the bitter, cold winter morning.
“Look at that poor bastard. He thought he had a chance.” They’d be saying with a chuckle of pity.
“That’s a long, cold, lonely walk back to the car.” They might add. Some might even exchange money from bets made during the entire ordeal.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m just overreacting. That people aren’t that cruel. Well guess what, I’m one of those people, and it’s not about being cruel. It’s about being glad you’re not in their (the poor bastard’s) shoes. This time, I was. Call it Karma if you want. I’ll call it fucking rotten.
So now, there I am, standing in the middle of the parking lot of the East Gwillimbury Go Station, facing the prospect of enduring rush-hour traffic for the next hour and a half and driving into work. When it happens.
I suppose I was too busy in my own self-loathing to notice a woman—who shall remain nameless—who was also running behind me for the train. She was an older woman, probably in her 40s, half my size with black hair and friendly face. The way she was dressed told me she was probably an executive or—at the very least—worked for one. I didn’t recognize her and realized she was new to the area when she asked me, “Is that the last train downtown?”
“Yes, it is…unfortunately.” I replied.
“Great!” she said exasperated, “What was with all the traffic back there?”
“Dunno, probably a serious accident.” I said as I turned towards my car.
“Well I guess I’m driving in.” she sighed.
“You know it might be better if you just drove to Sheppard and took the subway in.” I offered, trying to be helpful.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it takes almost the same time as taking the train, thanks to the new carpool lanes.”
The provincial government started an experimental project that involved building new lanes on a few select major highways reserved for carpoolers. So far the experiment seemed to be working as congestion seemed to be reduced. The exclusive lanes stopped at the northern-most point of the city, causing a bottleneck going into the downtown area.
What I often did—and what I suggested to the lady—was drive to the city’s northern limits where you could pick up the subway and ride it downtown. She didn’t seem to care for the subway idea.
“How many people do you need to drive in the carpooling lane?” she asked.
“At least two.” I answered. Then without missing a beat…
“You wanna lift?” she offered.
I was taken aback. This woman didn’t know me from a hole in the ground. Yet she was offering to accept me—a complete stranger—into the confined space of her own automobile for the next hour or so, and give me a ride into work.
The offer seemed genuine and good-natured and to our mutual benefit. I’m a little ashamed to admit that worst-case scenarios did pop into my head like; what if she was a serial-killer, or an abductor; or what if she wanted to rob me of my $1 that I had for my morning coffee. But then I realized the absurdity of my thinking. This lady was simply being kind and trusting and for me to decline her generous offer would be an insult and a step backward for all of humanity! (OK, I added that last part for dramatic affect.)
Besides, she was half my size; and even though I wasn’t quite ready to reveal my Kung Fu acumen to the world. I was pretty confident I could take her in a street brawl.
“Are you sure?” I asked, giving her the opportunity to change her mind.
“Sure!” she said chipperly, “I’m going your way anyway.”
After a quick exchange of names and a hand shake, we were both on our way in her car down to the city.
As it turned out, we had plenty to talk about. We both used to work for IBM and we knew a few of the same people. I gave a few tips on commuting from Holland Landing to Toronto. I told her of an express bus that leaves after the last train that she could take if she ever needed to work late. She was appreciative of the advice. The conversation was pleasant and when we arrived in downtown Toronto, we exchanged business cards and she dropped me off at the nearest subway station, only 3 stops from my office.
In the end, this lady’s act may not have been the most selfless act since we both profited from it, but it certainly was a considerable leap of faith.
I couldn’t help but think that, if the shoe were on the other foot, and I offered a strange woman a ride into the city under the same circumstances, my offer probably would have been politely declined, and I wouldn’t have blamed her. I can look pretty creepy—especially the first thing in the morning before my coffee.
All joking aside, what happened this morning was pretty extraordinary—and how sad is that to say? But the fact of the matter is, you don’t see a lot of this kind of trust anymore. I may never see or hear from this lady again and she never asked for any payment in return. As far as selflessness goes, that’s pretty impressive.
So now I feel the need to pay it forward. I’ve started by not letting this good deed go unacknowledged. I will finish by doing for someone else, that which was done for me.
Funny how a little kindness can be contagious.
What are you thinking?