Or How I Saved Two Old People From Certain Death
“Old people just grow lonesome, waiting for someone to say ‘Hello in there, hello.’”—From the song Hello in There by John Prine
“What kind of a topsy-turvy world do we live in where heroes are cast as villains, brave men as cowards?”—George Costanza
My story began one day at the supermarket when I needed only a container of butter before heading to the checkout. There was an old man blocking the cooler door, slowly looking back and forth, up and down. Rather than hovering over him, I took a stroll around the store, giving my time to the old man so he could make a decision and move on. But when I came around the aisle again, he was still blocking the door. I’m not very good at standing around, so I bottled up my frustrations and headed to the one cashier that was open. The butter could wait for another day, which might mean an extra trip…but what the hell.
As I got nearer to the cashier’s lane, off to my left there was a slowly moving old lady also eyeing the open lane, struggling with the few items she barely held in her hands. I could have easily beaten her there; but of course, as soon as I noticed her, I graciously held out my hand in the classic gesture of, Please, you go first. She smiled as she slowly walked ahead of me, and I could almost
hear Jerry Seinfeld’s TV mother saying: Yes, you are a good man. How could anyone not like you? And then the delay began: sifting through coupons, discussion about the prices, price check, fishing in the coin purse…. After a long while that dragged on and on…and on, I thought: F -Bomb! I COULD HAVE BEEN HOME BY NOW! But I remained outwardly calm and waited for my turn, when the cashier silently mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” And I wondered what it must be like in a Florida retirement village, possibly with a name similar to Del Boca Vista.
Image downloaded from the Internet
On the drive home, I quickly calmed down to the car stereo blasting Rory Block’s version of the Robert Johnson tune, Ramblin’ on my Mind: “…I got mean things, I got mean things all on my mind…I hate to leave you here baby, but you treat me so unkind.” The blues with a slide guitar always puts me in a good mood.
With my head swaying to the music, I came to a two-way stop sign and was head-to-head with a car from the opposite direction. A very old man was at the wheel, with his equally ancient wife (I assumed) in the passenger seat. So naturally, I calmly waved them on with a few movements of my fingers. But there they sat, unmoving. So I took it up a notch, and gently waved again, with a bit more energy. Yet, still they sat there, looking back and forth at each other and then back at me. I could almost feel my patience being shred like a cat’s worn out scratching post. Stoically endure, my inner voice implored. But instead, like directing a jet at O’Hare Airport, I began madly gesturing with both arms: “C’mon! Go! Go!” I lost it, I admit. The wife looked at her husband again, and seemed to ask, “What’s he saying?” The old man just stared ahead, when finally their car began to inch forward. It was at that point I noticed a rather large semi-truck barreling down from the right. I quickly held up both hands in the universal sign of “STOP!” And I shouted, “NO! STOP! STOP!” After the massive truck and its cloud of dust quickly rumbled past, the old people, with whatever color they had before our encounter drained from their faces and with their eyes wide open, seemed a bit rattled, but apparently none the worse for wear.
Later, as I related this story to a friend, he said, “If they had been killed, I can just hear a cop asking you, ‘So you waved them on, right?’” Yes, as any considerate person would do, I waved them on.
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