[i]...the relationship advice is on hiatus...seeing that current events and circumstances seem to support Ryan's summation that for a smart girl, i'm pretty stupid. according to him, I have the dating IQ of a monkey...[/i]
It’s Monday morning, around 8:20. Once again, I have just been pushed out of place, to the back of a swarm of people crowding to get onto the morning shuttle headed for the Water Tower Campus.
Lots of people think that they've got it all figured out: that these daily encounters with rudeness and carelessness prove that courtesy and kindness are indeed dead. But on December 13th, 2003, I was witness to evidence to the contrary.
On that crisp Saturday morning, I left my dorm around 5:45 in order to catch a southbound train to Midway Airport. As I made my way across campus, I cursed myself for having packed too much. I slung my purse across my body, my backpack, which was stuffed with books and my computer, hung by its straps on tired shoulders, while my mittened hands clumsily held onto the retractable handle of a large roll-away bag.
Having had to rest two times before I even passed Damen, I knew that I was in trouble. There was no way that my luggage weighed the regulation “fifty pounds or less”. But at this point, I really didn’t care that much. The twenty-five dollar fine worried me far less than the thought of having to travel with this beast all the way from Loyola’s Lakeshore Campus to Midway Airport. I would have to get on the Red Line, get off at the Roosevelt station, make the transfer from the Red to the Orange Line, then ride the rest of the way to Midway.
Aside from the occasional but necessary redistribution of weight from hand to hand, everything was going fine. I had even found three traveling companions. And by “companions” I mean that we were merely traveling in the same direction at the same time. But to clarify, I was acquainted with one of them because she lives in my building, while the two others, a couple, were complete strangers.
Upon arrival at Midway, we soon found out that both the escalator up and elevator were broken. While the two other girls easily made their way up the steep stairs, I remained at the foot overwhelmed by the thought of having to carry my things up these stairs.
The sole boy in our little pack of Loyolans told me to stay put because he was coming back for me. I watched him run up the stairs with his things, as I struggled to haul my roll-away bag up, one step at a time. He came running back down, picked up my mountainous luggage over his head and ran up the stairs once again.
As we hurriedly made our way up the stairs, all I could say was, “Thank you.”
I didn’t know his name, and he didn’t know mine. We were just strangers who happened to be at the same place at the same time. And he had absolutely nothing to gain from carrying what I later found out to have been a 76-pound piece of luggage over his head.
So every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, when I’m being shoved from all directions by people trying to get onto the shuttle, I think back to December 13th. And I smile to remember that people can--from time to time--surprise you.
aw ..thats awesome Its when you need a stranger most, they show up out of the blue. A tap on the shoulder perhaps as youre about to step onto the wrong L line...and instead of missing your flight you are saved by a stranger who was keepin an eye out for you. (lol) I think of them as helpers..its funny when they pop up.
