On a return journey from New York City this past weekend my friend Heather let someone squeeze between her and the car in front of her in line for a toll booth. The poor unfortunate soul who found themselves in the EZpass only lane jumped in front of us with a wave of his hand and we all cursed his existence.
We pulled up to the booth with 5 dollars ready where we found the tollbooth attendant smiling. She refused to take the money because she said the man ahead of us had paid for us as well.
What? Had we heard correctly? Yes, there is a God, there is Karma and THERE ARE GOOD, APPRECIATIVE PEOPLE IN THE WORLD! Hallelujah! Who would have thought we would have found a beacon of goodness in line for the TriBoro Bridge? He could have easily paid for himself and driven away thinking little of the bespectacled girl in the Toyota Matrix who let him cut her in line.
But no, instead he repaid us with little chance of reward or recognition.
Things like this make me proud to be human.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
coffee casualty
Music was pumping into my ears courtesy of my awkwardly pea-green headphones when I realized I was next in line.
[I refuse to go to this class without some form of caffeinated elixir.]
Flustered because I hadn't been paying attention, I reached for my student I.D. [coffee number 8762837 courtesy mom and dad]. I whipped it out with an underestimated and inappropriate amount vigor and somehow unleashed the shiny card into the chest of the tall Indian man at the cash register. In a flash he jumped up as if the orange card emblazoned with my fresh face had shocked him from a coma. Blushing, we both reached down to pick it up from the spot where it landed by his feet. Perhaps it was his impossibly long arms, but he beat me to it and handed it to me with a grin spreading across his face.
He looked at my shocked face and started to laugh.
I started to laugh.
The guy behind me started to laugh.
It was beautiful. My nincompoopery shook all of us from the stupor we walk around in so much of the time. I didn't assault him with my I.D. card, I simply punctured the comfortable little bubbles we had around us for a brief time and shared a laugh with a stranger.
I didn't need the coffee to wake me up.
[I refuse to go to this class without some form of caffeinated elixir.]
Flustered because I hadn't been paying attention, I reached for my student I.D. [coffee number 8762837 courtesy mom and dad]. I whipped it out with an underestimated and inappropriate amount vigor and somehow unleashed the shiny card into the chest of the tall Indian man at the cash register. In a flash he jumped up as if the orange card emblazoned with my fresh face had shocked him from a coma. Blushing, we both reached down to pick it up from the spot where it landed by his feet. Perhaps it was his impossibly long arms, but he beat me to it and handed it to me with a grin spreading across his face.
He looked at my shocked face and started to laugh.
I started to laugh.
The guy behind me started to laugh.
It was beautiful. My nincompoopery shook all of us from the stupor we walk around in so much of the time. I didn't assault him with my I.D. card, I simply punctured the comfortable little bubbles we had around us for a brief time and shared a laugh with a stranger.
I didn't need the coffee to wake me up.
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