Reading another blog reminded me of something that happened in my little world recently and made me think about my first impressions of people…
One weekend, my husband and I had agreed to take a drive to help my mechanical-minded father-in-law pick up an old Jeep he was purchasing from a random seller (online). We drove him there to get the car.
Actually, first we waited for Jeepman to call back to arrange a time.
A time was set and we arrived and waited for Jeepman to return from fishing. There was a boat; there were children; there was chatting.
There was an enthusiastic pit bull that wagged her tail so hard it was like having our legs beaten with a very happy stick. Honestly, it hurt. It may have left bruises, I forgot to check.
The purchase was made. We were to follow in case the Jeep broke down.
And it did break down. About five minutes down the road.
A large pickup truck pulled up beside us, and there was an offer to tow the Jeep out of the intersection. We were towed away from traffic by the pickup guys.
I thought that was kind.
Then, the pickup guys parked and one of them got out and started trying to help fix the car so it would drive.
There was looking under the hood, there was tinkering… there was lying on the pavement underneath the back of the Jeep.
This was some real Good Samaritan stuff. Beyond kind.
I was truly surprised — and I probably should not have been — not only because the guys took so much time to help out some complete strangers, but because the first guy I saw get out of the truck looked kind of scruffy, like a television version of a drug addict.
Stringy hair past his shoulders, missing teeth, tattoos, cigarette, worn clothes. His t-shirt had a design that seemed to blend into the tattoos on his arms.
He saw me watching him from inside our car. He grinned and waved at me. His hair was blowing everywhere. I should note that I stayed in the car because I thought it would not take long. I was wrong.
I watched as Scruffyman searched the ground after his fresh cigarette blew out of his grip. He picked it up from the sidewalk at the edge of the grass, put it in his mouth and pulled his shirt over the lower half of his face. Then he stuck his other arm under the shirt. His face emerged with a lit cigarette.
I had never seen this before.
I thought maybe he should have a hairband if he was in the habit of smoking with long hair on windy days. Seemed risky.
The Jeep got started again as I reflected on the kindness of Scruffyman.
We went a few miles before the Jeep stopped again.
This time, the Jeep was pushed by hand, and a tow service was called. We sat in my car with the windows open and the radio on. It was windy, hot, boring.
There was a deer across the street running inside an enclosed fence. It disappeared into the tall foliage as if it had never been there at all.
We waited. Sometimes the deer’s head popped up to look at us. We stared back. Sometimes we saw a bit of brown between the leaves, but mostly we saw nothing.
After about two hours of waiting, with assurances that the tow truck driver was “almost there”, we went to pick up my father-in-law’s big truck to tow the Jeep ourselves.
The day was long, but I felt my hope for humanity restored by Scruffyman and his generosity of spirit.
It was a reminder that our outsides do not reflect our insides.