The Kindness of Strangers

We walk up to the charming gate agent as she gives a deadpan delivery, “This is a full flight.  We released your seats.”  I spent 18 years preparing for the day I would take my daughter to college, and yet I missed something so simple.  Can I just blame the mean ol’ gate agent? (for more about this day, read The Tao of Letting Go).  

What can I say about cutting it so close for such an important flight? I blame the bagels. After all my daughter and I really enjoyed sitting down to eat them at the airport cafe in route to our flight. In between bites and poppy seeds attractively wedged between my chompers, I was trying to get in every last bit of my profound mothering wisdom; watching the time required multitasking and that has never been my forte.  However, I will now mine for lessons in the messiness; that’s usually my most fruitful place of learning.

The cast of characters is familiar with yours truly starring in the role of well intentioned yet misguided dimwit. Other familiar characters of life make their appearance as I stand by the gate pleading to get our seats back.  I present gate agent #1, the dodge the bullet type evidenced by saying,  “Let me go check the plane to see if there is room for you,” as she conveniently hid on the plane until take-off. When I asked gate agent #2 for help, she looked toward the dodging gate agent and did what many of us might do in the moment by passing the buck, "This isn’t my flight. It’s her decision.”  I imagine the dodger lounging in our plane seats, chugging mini chardonnays and laughing maniacally drunk with power.  I’m ticked because that was my plan. 

Enter in two new characters, the subtle gate agent and demonstrative businessman.  This gate agent works unassumingly at his computer terminal, never meeting our eyes.  He seems so tuned out that I don’t even bother asking him directly for help.  The businessman inserts a different persona.  Having watched our pleas to get on the flight we bought seats and checked a bag for, he speaks up for us in a completely unsolicited way.  “You released their seats before the 15-minute cut-off.  I watched you do it. That’s not fair.”  Someone believes my version of the story! I smell my new personal hero!

Suffice it to say, it doesn’t go our way.  However that quiet gate agent, seemingly unmoved and uninvolved, calls us over.  The pass the bucker agent sees him about to give us something, and she quizzically asks, “Are you really going to give them those?’’ The quiet gate agent says, “Yes,” as he places $800 in travel vouchers in my hands. Whatever frustration I felt is immediately replaced with joy.  He comes out from the desk and is standing right by us, beaming with a big smile.  I suddenly feel like he’s my personal Santa Claus, and I want to clamor for more.  “I’d like a new Ferrari, a lifetime supply of chocolate and wine, and several months in Tahiti with a little bell to ring for pool boys!” I am profusely patting his arm and thanking him for assuaging this end of the world tragedy felt by a ditzy housewife and her daughter. I’m also thrilled that by scoring some “bacon,” i.e., travel vouchers, my husband will have to hold back on mercilessly teasing me for my airport stupidity. 

An hour or so later, we walk up to the next flight that is boarding at a new gate to see if we will be called off the standby list.  I’m trying to assure my daughter she will make it to college one way or another. I’m not opposed to dusting off my old Candies’ shoes as I hold up a sign by the highway stating, “College or bust.”  Naturally I would share our tale of woe with any toothless trucker and a flask willing to give us a ride.

Oh all right, we stick with the plan to board a plane but interestingly encounter the same businessman again.   He looks directly at us and offers us more supportive words that basically state he feels we were wronged.  We smile and nod, uttering something inconsequential. I’m often horrible at small talk and opening up to strangers (well, unless you count me happily ensconced by a computer, slugging back a generous pour chardonnay and/or chugging obscene amounts of coffee, blogging to escape the knowledge if you love, hate or are indifferent to me).  He walks away but I hear him telling the new gate agent that we were unjustly booted off our flight and should be allowed on this flight.  I want to hand this man a cape, tights, and a stretchy t-shirt with a big S.  We wait.  They call three names to be cleared for boarding: the businessman and us.  My daughter and I are giddy with joy!

A couple of days later, I find myself walking up to the gate to return home without my daughter.  I’m holding my heart in my hands and held back tears that would rival Barbara Walters’ best interviewee breakdown.  “Yes Barbara my favorite tree is the Pine Tree because it flexes under duress not to mention it has a frazzled and frayed appearance!” Cue the camera close-up of my waterfall of emotion now bursting.

My outward composure is calm though as I look to my immediate left; uncannily there stands the same businessman.  I’m either being stalked or the universe is driving home a message.

 “Hello again,” he says. 

“How weird running into you again!” I say.  Weird?  I really stumble in life to say the right words.

“I know,” he replies. “Did you get your daughter off okay to college?” 

“Yes, I did.”  He says something about it being a good college.   I try to deflect all my emotions with a joke that sounds stupid.  Something about a family tree of derelicts clanking moonshine jugs, myself included. However, I muddle the joke in such a way that I fear I sound like a hillbilly and a pretentious snob all at the same time.  People come between us, and I walk onto the plane to find my seat.  Why did I joke?  Why didn’t I say thank you?  What are the odds of two strangers crossing paths three times across a weekend?  I feel that I should have said something deeper and failed.  I want to yell out, “Thank you Superman! While you are at it, could you make my neighbors’ dogs stop barking?”

Now, silently sitting on the plane, I spend the duration of the flight listening to my two seatmates, a man and a woman, talking non-stop.  Even though they just met each other, they proceed to dish all the details of their relationship and career issues.  It was riveting and all to hear about how the guy met the love of his life while he was still shagging the other cashier, or how the woman was tired of managing idiots.  “Social work is hard!” I found myself seeking an off button. Why don’t they just blog like “normal” people do, so as to offer a choice on whether we other passengers want to be creepy voyeurs or not? Later, the woman blares out, “Kids!  The poop!  The waste of diapers! Just being an aunt is enough for me!” I’m not sure if I want to slap the foolishness right out of her head or grab a megaphone strategically attached to her earlobe so that her reeducation can commence. “Motherhood is a privilege! A calling like no other! There is nothing in life that has meant more to me. Oh, but it can hurt too. Goodbyes ache.  Oh and it’s quirky too.  My teen son shaved his eyebrows off just for kicks!”  (Look Ma, I Shaved...)

As I am walking up the aisle to exit the plane, I see the businessman up ahead.  He pauses and looks to help someone struggling to get his bag down. He has apparently got a knack for this kindness gig. Walking out of the plane into the bustling crowd, I’m struck with an impulse to action, suddenly driven to correct an error on my part. I follow along and then jump on a train, seeing the businessman through the windows in the next compartment. When we stop, I scurry up the escalator, compelled to come out of my cocoon of silence.  I catch up to him.

“Hello again,” he says and smiles.

“I want to thank you,” I say, “for your kindness.” 

He replies, “Oh well, pay it forward, you know.” 

“So many times in life we don’t say thank you when we should. I want to thank you.  You spoke up for us and it was helpful. They gave us travel vouchers.” 

“Oh they should have done that for you,” he says with sincerity.

“My daughter and I talked about you.  I used you as an example that as she meets new people and has new experiences to remember there are kind people in the world.” He smiles, and we begin to split off.

“Nice meeting you,” he says. 

“Yes,” I say, “Goodbye.”  

It was comforting to hear words of support from someone who could have easily chosen to not make the effort. I often struggle to step outside my comfort zone especially in the hodgepodge of random strangers.  I'm glad I overcame my reticence though and said encouraging words to him as well. Perhaps our words and small gestures are more meaningful than we imagine.

As I drove home that evening from the airport, I thought of my daughter far from home in a new world of strangers.  I held a hope in my heart that she would join others in her vulnerability, wisely take risks, graciously give and receive kindness in her new life, and find the strength to fend for herself in a world of such unpredictability and uncertainty. 

A couple of kind strangers reminded me to strive to do the same…