"As much as there are people who will kick you around, stomp you when you're feeling the worst, only to be proven that it can get even worse than what you're already feeling, people who will be evil because they can and because they're human...

As much as people can be bad, they can be good too. This is for one of those people that I've had the honor of meeting. Heck, this is for all those who had been kind to a stranger or friend for no real reason, but because they want to. Because they know how hard life can be and help out when it's most needed. Even when it isn't needed, they help because they want to. Because they care. Because they saw something in you that others didn't, just because others don't look close enough. Or because you don't want others too see. But those people always do. Because they're special. Why? Because they can see that you're special.

I'll be a damn idiot if you think there's no one like that around you. There is. You have to look as much as they looked at you and saw the kind person inside."

http://www.sheezyart.com/view/619142/

This is something I wrote a year ago, in response to the kindness I got from someone who I couldn't even call an acquaintance. I would very much like to describe the situation(s) in detail, but I keep bumping into a wall that I could swear wasn't there yesterday. I would call it a writers block or just a result of trying to write something early in the morning. (: So I apologise & promise that, when my muse wakes up, I'll edit this into something worth while. Into something like Yasha's post, that really put a smile on my face and made me feel guilty for all the times I've lost hope in humanity.

Oooh! What a lovely topic! I have several instances to share, but not with the poetic finesse that Yasha used to described her story. My heart surged when I read about the man saying he was a PhD, and the program was designed for students with her situation in mind. Wow! Nice lift.

    When I was 18, I got my license. I waited a long time, I know, I know. I had learned to drive in a small town with not much traffic, and I had never been on the interstate. So, one weekend, I decided to force myself to learn everything all at once and I snuck away to Houston. It is a pretty large city, with more traffic in one square mile than the entire 50 mile radius where I grew up. I just found an 18 wheeler, and kept my car behind him the entire ride. Of course, my ending destination was the Galleria Mall. But I took several really wrong turns, and ended up on a huge bridge reminding me of a scary rollercoaster, complete with "Danger" signs about traveling too slow on you way up the side of the bridge. Traffic was bumper to bumper, but everyone still kept the nice easy pace of 70 mph. I laugh much easier than I cry, but I was in red-faced tears. No clue where I was going, how to get back, couldn't remember the name of the interstate I was on. I felt I had been thrown through a portal and I was destined to be sold into slavery whenever I stopped my car and found I couldn't speak the language any longer. Ha! I finally did stop at a trashy gas station, but my lack of knowledge about my own circumstances (names of interstate, roads I traveled to get this far) left everyone pretty irritated, therefore, seemingly unwilling to help. Then, in walked my angel. A random man, middle-aged, grabbed a map and tried so hard to make me understand where I needed to go to get home. He could tell I was clueless, and so he told me he was going to let me follow his car to the main interstate I needed. So I hopped in, followed him along several roads, we would stop at a toll, and when I pulled to the front, they let me know the car in front had already paid for mine. I followed him about 30 minutes, and eventually ended up on the road that took me home. I saw him take the first exit, waving goodbye, as he probably turned around and went back to where he needed to be. After a few months, when I learned more about roads and maps. I noticed that this man had taken me through a special shortcut, and paid all of my tolls, going quite far out of his way to do so. Actually letting me follow him OUT OF THE CITY so there would be no room for error.
    Because of that experience, I am now great with directions and rarely get lost. I can always spot the frazzled person, and see their questions of, "Where's that again?" are annoying everyone, so I take special care to be polite with other lost people.

    My car broke down once, it was raining, and as I was walking to the gas station to call my mom (cell phone dead) a man stopped, allowed me to use his phone, gave me a ride to the gas station after telling me that he was a father, would want someone to do the same for his daughter, etc. Speaking to him on the ride, I found out that his daughter was killed a few years earlier on the train tracks, and she and I shared the same name. An art major, with a drawing concentration, I promised him a portrait of his daughter for the kindness he had shown me that day.
   
    In the parking lot of a fast food restaurant, there was a van with several children hanging out inside. As soon as I stepped out of my car, a Hispanic woman approached with her child. The woman looked at me desperately, and her little girl began to tell me that her mother did not speak English very well, but that their van was empty and they needed gas money to get to Houston where the father was waiting. I handed her just over 40.00. The mother, had a necklace on with a Catholic icon of Christ. She took her necklace off, and put it around my neck, as she thanked me with tears in her eyes. I have kept her necklace hanging from my rearview mirror ever since.
 
    The most recent incident, would be at a Waffle House. This was a few weeks ago, I was visiting my Korean friends in Atlanta, we had just stopped to have the 'all American breakfast' after our visit to the karaoke room. Whilst I was leaving I noticed the waitress, who we had met several nights prior, who was a friendly African-American who exuded this 'toughness',  was crying. I stopped and asked her what was wrong, and she proceeded to tell me about strange threatening phone calls she was receiving from a disgruntled former employee. I told her to phone the police, but she told me that she had already done so only to be told it was out of the jurisdiction of whichever suburb it was. I redialed the police from my cell phone and demanded that an officer be sent out to our location. Then, I persuaded my drunk friends to sit back down and wait for the police to arrive. So we had a second breakfast that consisted mainly of coffee. We did not leave the Waffle House until the cops arrived, and the waitress assured us that she was fine.

   Finally, my last story involves a book. Kinda embarassing, but very funny. When I lived in Houston, I lived with a rage-a-holic boyfriend who once got very mad and tossed one of my books out of our third story apartment. (I was pretty young...18-19...don't worry folks, cynical, world-weary Frosty would never tolerate that sort of behavior now) A few weeks later my mother called and told me a book had been mailed to her home. Apparently, there was an envelope inside of the book, with my home address, and this runner had found it and decided to mail it back to the address. My mom wrote him a little note, "Thank you, God Bless the kindness of strangers" thanking him, and that was several years ago. Now they even exchange Christmas cards with one another! I still remember the book, Voltaire.

Last edited by Frosty (11-18-2006 11:34:20 AM)

Once I was crying at a bus stop (longish story, but suffice to say I cry very, very easily) and the man standing next to me, after watching nervously for a few minutes, handed me a huge wad of kleenex and told me he hoped I felt better soon. Like I said, I cry a lot, and I have trouble hiding it--usually when I'm sniffling on the streets people either ignore me or give me funny looks. Him taking the time to acknowledge it and give encouragement was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.

Another really nice thing a stranger did for me was lil less direct--I was running down the el platform (for non-Chicagoans, el = train system, especially the elevated train system [although we call the subway the "el" too, go figure]) on a snowy, slippery day in an attempt to get back down to street level in time to catch my bus. As I ran past this little girl (maybe six or so) she yelled out, "be careful, you might fall down!" I did end up catching the bus (even though I stopped to thank her and slowed a bit) and I probably wasn't directly in any kind of danger, but I was really touched that she worried and said something.


There's also the odd time I've been stranded somewhere without money and a stranger has given me a few dollars for a train. I can never get over how kind an act that is, especially since there's almost zero chance that I could ever pay them back.

Yasha wrote:

I have several of my own stories. More, maybe, than I should.

I agree.

I don't get helped by random strangers much. The first (and kinda only...) thing that comes to mind is when I needed money to move and continue hosting the site, and a bunch of people came through for me and donated. I'm not sure that counts though, since...I can't really consider that a bunch of strangers.

Definitely, Nessy. That's a gorgeous story.

The best story I have of the kindness of strangers comes from a couple of years ago, while I was on a bus ride. It's long, so please bear with me.

I go down to America quite often. For the last couple of years, it's been twice a year. I have friends in Florida (obviously) and Missouri; you all will never meet my friend from Missouri, as she's not in the least interested in SKU. Back when I first went to visit her, I was poorer than I am now, so I had to take the bus down to see her. The first time I was ever on the bus, it was that three day bus ride to Missouri. No stops at hotels, nowhere to sleep but on the bus, middle of February, and no one else to talk to. Sounds hellish, no?

Well, it got worse. After about a day on the bus, we were doing a long stretch in the middle of the night, and a poor old man died (natural causes, I think) on the bus, which meant we had to wait for the authorities and the ambulance to arrive. Incidentally, they dragged him out by his feet, and I almost cried to see him treated that way.

Not to negate the impact of his death, but in essence what it meant as far as the bus was concerned was that we were an hour late getting into our next stop, where I had a transfer to make. I missed it, of course, and it was the only bus that day. I'd have to wait a full day to catch the next one. Unfortunately for me, circumstance had left me with almost no Canadian money and no way to get any; my budget for the two weeks was only four hundred dollars, and the only hotel within walking distance was charging $150 for a room. I decided to wait in the bus station, because at least that way I wouldn't have to go outside. I spent nine long hours in that bus station, and by the end I was so sleep-deprived that I could barely write coherent sentences. I have a problem with sleeping sitting up. I actually can't do it at all. At that point I think I was near 35 hours awake.

That's when they told me I had to get out. Apparently the bus station closed at midnight. I stepped out into the Winnepeng cold, hoping I would be able to keep warm for six hours until the bus station opened again. I found a little sheltered spot, out of the wind, and sat there with my fingers and face stinging from the cold for some unmeasurable length of time.

After a while, a cab pulled up. I knew I wouldn't be able to last the night out in that cold, so in desperation I grabbed my bags and walked over. I ended up spilling the story to the cabbie, and I asked him if he knew of any all-night diners that I could get a cup of coffee and get warm in. He looked at me for a moment, and then said, "I know a place. Grab your bags."

I told him I couldn't go far, because I only had ten dollars, but he said it wasn't far and he was right. We pulled up to a large house, and he said "It's a hostel. They might still be open, but you'll have to hurry." I grabbed my bags and started fumbling for my cash, but he waved me off. "Don't worry about it right now. I'll wait outside in case they're closed for the night, and you can come back out and pay me then."

So I went inside the hostel and explained my situation, and that I didn't have much money. I ended off by asking whether I couldn't just sit down in their TV room and get warm for a while. The girl behind the counter told me there was no need, that she could bring me in for the night for sheet deposit and a small, small fee for the bed-- a very reduced rate. I told her I didn't know if I could pay because I had to pay the cabbie first, so I went to the door and opened it. The cab was just pulling away.

The girl set me up with a blanket and promised to wake me in time to catch my bus. I went up to my room and met my new rommates-- a guy from Montreal, named Gabriel, and a Japanese guy whose name I didn't catch. Gabriel took a liking to me, because he offered to go outside and smoke with me, and I suppose the Japanese guy did too, because when I came back upstairs to the room, he gave me an origami chrysanthemum, made from the foils out of a cigarette pack.

I kept it until it was shreds. The next morning, awake, showered, and on time, I got onto my bus and continued on.