people are generally good
good samaritan-ism isn't dead
I had one of my worst days in the city a couple of weeks ago. And somehow I could feel it coming. Despite leaving work with plenty of time to spare before I had to catch my coach, I had a sense I wouldn’t make it on time. That that would be the day the city reliably gave up on me.
It started when I tripped outside my office, twisting my ankle and tearing the knee of my new trousers ever so slightly. Of course my phone got knocked out of my hand in the process, temporarily knocking out the cellular service in the process. The last thing I expected was for multiple people to stop and ask if I was ok. I sheepishly responded with a yes, thank you, unable to make eye contact out of embarrassment for ignoring the voice in my head telling me to slow down.
Not only was the train delayed, but they had to go ahead and rename the line as well despite the route remaining the same. But when I asked the girl sitting next to me if we were going the right away, she took the time to make sure that it was. It wasn’t her fault that they decided to reroute half way through, leaving me stranded in an upscale part of town lacking reliable bus routes.
With less than 20 minutes to go before my coach left, I somehow managed to call a taxi in time. As soon as I got in the car I pleaded with the driver to get to the station before 7pm. He didn’t take that request lightly and managed to get me there at 6:57, a whole minute earlier than the GPS had estimated. He must have heard the desperation in my voice—what else possessed him to drive on the pavement at one point? I thanked him profusely before dashing off with my little suitcase, injured ankle, and knee.
My husband waited for me at the end of the line just as the coach was about to stop boarding. It was no surprise that there was nowhere for us to sit together once we actually got on board. And with the hour I just had I couldn’t bear anything else. We asked a young man hogging two seats if he would mind moving so we could sit next to each other. Him “uhhs” and “umms” told us everything we needed to know. Just as I was about to lose hope, an older woman who’d overheard us agreed to move instead, giving up her coveted window seat to sit in the aisle next to a stranger.
It was then that it dawned on me that there’s still a lot of good in this city, how being a good samaritan isn’t a thing of folklore. That even on one of my worst days at least a handful of strangers had shown me some version of kindness. In those moments, they held me in my loneliness. People are generally good, my grandfather used to say. I’ve gone back and forth on whether he was right over the years. But if complete strangers can show me an ounce of their love on my worst day, he couldn’t have been that far off.
