This weekend, I did something atypical for me. I did something nice for a stranger, offering to help a fellow out when I could have done nothing. As I normally do.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m a very charitable person in an abstract way. My wife and I give something like 8% of our income to charities, more actually since a lot of those gifts are in goods that we undervalue so the IRS doesn’t make us explain why we claimed $60 for a children’s accessory that sells for $120. We’ve even endowed a freakin’ scholarship by our mid-thirties. But that’s not direct person-to-person nice.
There are people in this world who stop their cars when they see someone pulled over to the side of the road with a flat tire or something. I’m the sort of guy who passes without a glance. But that sort of conflicts with my internal characterization of myself as some sort of hardboiled stoic hero. I mean, I have the hardboiled bit and the stoic bit down, but I’ve been lacking in the heroic.
So we’re sitting in a McDonalds, and this large man comes walking through, asking all of the patrons if they drive a silver car since the car is parked too close to his car for him to get in. We finish eating, and this guy is sitting in the passenger door of a Miata parked next to us. He’s way over to the left of the parking spot, so he can’t get into the car until the silver car moves.
So I offered to back the Miata out so he could get in. He accepted, pleased to discover I could drive a manual transmission. I squeezed in, threw it into reverse, revved it high as one (me) is wont to do with an unfamiliar stick, and pulled it back enough so he could get in.
It took me three minutes to help this guy out instead of letting him sit in the cold until someone moved his or her car. But it made me feel good. Not only did I help the guy out, but I got over my inhibition to helping someone out. And I got a lifetime of wondering why a guy that big was driving a Mazda Miata in the first place.
