Last night I helped a man in a wheelchair across the street and it made me angry at you. I was in my Cutlass enroute to a meeting that I was already late for and approached one of the ba-zillion stop signs in the little downtown area of Ames. All of a sudden I realized I needed to give the chunky soles of my sandals a little bit more pressure on the brake than my toes appreciated in order to avoid cutting off the brick-path crosswalk where a man was trying to cross. I hate those drivers who stop beyond the Big White Line at stop signs for that very reason: you're likely to either hit a pedestrian or bike-rider or uppity Schnauzer-on-too-long-of-a-leash OR at the very least cut off their path and cause me to muttter "Dickhead" under my breath at you in hopes that it will make you less rude in the future.

So, last night I was one of those drivers and stopped just a tad over the red bricks laid to denote the crosswalk and there's Nick in his wheelchair to my left, stuck in the road between the hump of the middle of the street and the ramp from the sidewalk. He waves me on to pass him and complete my turn. "Don't wait for me to cross; you'll be late for your meeting and for work tomorrow too if you wait on me," he seems to be saying. And I do complete my turn, looking around frantically for a pedestrian that could lend him a hand and allow me to continue on, guilt-free, and be only a few minutes late to my meeting. There's a middle-aged couple crossing the street perpendicular to Nick. I figure they'll take care of him, but by the time I'm halfway down the block and look in my rear-view mirror, they're opening the door to the jewelry store and Nick's still stuck between the hump and the ramp, waving on other vehicles.

I park in the first spot I see and leave the car running. As I trot down the block in the direction from which I had just driven, a young man passes in front of Nick and continues on, entering the Jimmy Johns on the corner, not even seeming to take note of the battle going on between metal and cement and biceps only a few feet away. By this time I'm pretty furious but I don't let it enter my voice: "Hey there! Looks like you're a little stuck... Can I give you a hand across the street?" I'm not sure what kind of brain is in the body in the chair, so I'm cautious, but Nick nods his head. It becomes apparent that he's at least a little developmentally challanged and I try to wheel him swiftly, but not so fast that he's freaked out. Safe on the opposite corner, I ask Nick, "Which way are you going now? I can help you over the other hump." His arm makes a big gesture and his index finger points crookedly, but mostly to the left. "Here we go!" When we get the other side of Main Street, now kitty-corner to where Nick
started, he lets out a delighted squeal and reaches around the chair to shake my right hand. "My name's Nick," his lips struggle to get out. "Hi, Nick," I hold onto his overly-firm grip, "My name's Melissa. Nice to meet you. Where are you on your way to?" He says something that I don't understand and I ask him to repeat it, twice, in fact. But I never do catch what he's saying. "Oh, I'm new in town," I hear myself saying, even though I've now been here a year and a half, "you're good to get there on your own?" He nods his head wildly, "see you later!" I think he tells me as I jog back to my car.

I'm angry at you because you might think I'm a super nice person to stop what I'm doing, be extra late for where I'm going and dash to help a man in a wheelchair over the hump in the street. I'm not a super nice person. I'm just a normal, reasonable human being and you should be too, you jewelry-buying, sandwich-eating, lazy shmoes. Normal, reasonable human beings stop and take a moment or two to help other human beings by doing something really easy (get a man in a wheelchair 50 feet) when it's really hard and a little humiliating for that other person to struggle in public to acomplish (get your not-so-strong-developmentally-and-movement-challanged body 50 feet). Nick might not understand humiliation, or he may be used to the whole process by now. But, he sure seemed extraordinarily happy to get a little push.

I curse the little highs I get from helping other people, multiple times a day at work and also little events like this, because it shouldn't be novel when you do what you can to minimize suffering of any kind. It shouldn't be something worthy of note at the dinner table or in a blog. It should just be life...doing all you can to look around you for opportunities to spread love, build trust, and encourage harmony. If that's too hippie, touchy-feely for you, try opportunities to be a normal, reasonable human being. Otherwise, you might as well be on Neptune.