I fake a deep southern accent when quoting Blanche DuBois from Tennessee Williams’ play, A Streetcar Named Desire. “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” I really have.
Why, just yesterday I asked three different men at the grocery store to reach something from top shelves. All three said they were glad to help, and one of them was a very old man, but he was tall. I couldn’t tell if he was leaning on the low freezer rail for support or just leaning to be leaning. At any rate, he said he’d try to reach something for me, and his smile stretched ear-to-ear when he handed me the bag of bagel chips.
Just to be clear, it’s not that I single out men, it’s just that they are tall, and in yesterday’s grocery junket they were the nearest shoppers in my areas of need. In the past, I’ve asked plenty of women for help, and they have always stepped up.
Relying on the kindness of others really struck home last week when I was on a small coastal boat off the Florida shore. I was traveling alone and at first, I knew absolutely no one. Then I started meeting folks. Eventually, many passengers succumbed to stomach flu, and I was among them. I’ll spare you the brutal details, but a new friend from a Chicago suburb brought ice and soda to my cabin door, keeping her distance while handing them to me. Time and again, she checked on me via text and kept up that delivery service.
When I finally joined the living in the dining room, another new friend from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, urged me to get off the boat and walk at fisherman’s wharf. “I’ll take care of you,” he said, “but you need some sunshine and fresh air.” He was right. I felt stronger for taking that walk. Another new friend from Staten Island, New York, instructed me on what she felt I should eat for my delicate stomach. They had my welfare at heart, and I was grateful.
Although I’d like to be kind to strangers, I’m rarely called on to render aid. At the airport, I did notice a woman struggling with her walker and suitcase and got her in what I thought was the right line. It wasn’t, but I eventually found help for her.
At Dry Tortugas, within the enormous hexagon brick fortress of Ft. Jefferson, I wandered the second floor and met a couple men who were also walking the perimeter looking for a way up. When I found the ‘hidden’ staircase that led to the grassy roof, I called to them and showed them the way. Doesn’t that count as helping strangers? Later, when I was back on the second floor, I saw them again. This time they sought me out when they found a spiral stone staircase down to the courtyard.
To sum up the findings of my solo trip: People are the same, no matter where they’re from. It’s their accents that take a little getting used to. They are just living their lives like you and me. They are friendly. And they are kind.
If that conclusion is not enough to make my thoughts worth reading, here’s random info I learned at Key West’s nature conservatory: A group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope. A group of flamingos is called a flamboyance. Whoever chose those collective nouns was insightful and whimsical. That type of person would undoubtedly be kind to strangers.
