Kindness: Street Crossing

There's a crossing guard who's on our block in the mornings. You don't usually see crossing guards unless they're right in front of a school. Which isn't the case on our block, however there is a school a few blocks away. I guess that's part of living in a city though - since more kids walk to school, they need more crossing guards to keep everyone safe.

Anyway, our crossing guard is a super-nice guy. He walks out into the intersection for everyone with his little stop sign and neon yellow jacket. He smiles, he chats, he waves to the passers by. Which is more than I can say for another guard I pass in the mornings when I take the bus - that guy takes about two steps off the curb and silently stands there looking all gruff.

Our friendly crossing guard always has a smile on his face and rosy cheeks (most-likely due to the chilly morning air). He's not an old guy, maybe in his late 30s, but he's a little round and very jolly. To be honest, he kind of creeped me out when he first showed up - just kinda a weird job for not-a-granddad. But now our brief morning exchange makes me smile. He always speaks first. Sometimes I try to beat him to it.

"Good morning, how are you today?"
"Fine thanks, and you?"
"I'm great, hope you have a good day.:
"Thanks. You, too!"

And that's our typical morning exchange as I round the corner on the way to work. A nice start to my morning.

Kindness: On the ski slope

It started with a girl’s weekend. Me and a few other gals from my office headed up to New Hampshire to spend the weekend hanging out, shopping, and skiing. There were two in the group who had not really skied before (“the Beginners”) – one, pretty much never (“Zero” experience), the other about ten years ago (“Minor” experience). So, while the rest of us geared up and headed toward the blue slopes, the remaining two headed to a lesson. Or so we thought. While we enjoyed a morning of great skiing with the occasional lovely snow shower, the others were stranded elsewhere on the mountain.

It started when the ski rental line was enormous. For some reason, it took well over an hour to rent skis and boots. Bummer. So, the Beginners missed the 11:00 lesson. So they decided to shoot for the 12:00 one. In the mean time, they decided that they shouldn’t waste an entire hour, especially after having stood in line forever. They could totally get in one run before noon. So they headed to the lifts that led to a green slope.

There may or may not have been some confusion in the lift line when the guy scanned their beginner (read: restricted-to-certain–small-slopes) lift tickets, but he let them through anyway. Amazingly, Zero made it on and off the ski lift in once piece. To me, that’s pretty shocking, seeing as I still get nervous getting off, and I ate it EVERY lift ride the few times I tried snowboarding. Well done.

The problem started when they got to the top of the green slope and looked over. It was just a tad steeper than expected. A few kindly skiers, seeing them look uncertainly down the slope, made sure to let them know that the top was the hardest part and that it leveled out significantly further down. With some quick instructions from Minor about “pizza” and “snow plow” they began their descent. Onward they went.

For a bit. Until Zero got going too fast in her snow plow position and fell. And got up and fell. And got up and fell, fell, fell. Every few feet, every few inches. Meanwhile, Minor was cautiously making her way down a little more smoothly. She trailed, yelling directions and cheers and gathering skis and poles as they detached from Zero. Several skiers stopped to talk to them on the way down, lend support, return a stray pole, give them pointers. But still, stressful cannot begin to describe their descent. Grueling is more like it, on both their parts. Zero for the shock and the physical exhaustion. Minor for the cheerleading, the picking-up-the-pieces and the getting-herself-down-in-one-piece-too in the 2 hours it took to do so.

Major kindness props to Minor for sticking with it. Not freaking out. Not abandoning her friend. Not leaving her for a minute, even if it would have been to get help. Not being too annoyed that she was missing out on skiing a bit more, a bit faster. There was also great kindness shown by strangers on the mountain. From the first guy who said the trail got less steep just past the top to the (presumably) several others who helped cheer them along and pick up the odd ski or two. And also to Zero who didn’t kill Minor for taking her up the mountain and who didn’t give up.

After all that, they missed their 12:00 lesson. Zero has quit skiing for good. And Minor conquered the green slope a few times after lunch. I think we all learned a lot that day, about skiing, patience, perseverance and kindness.

Kindness: An Umbrella

Last week was a really rainy wee. It was supposed to be a really snowy week, but, for the hundredth time this winter, the weathermen were all wrong. Precipitation, yes. Snowfall, no. Howling winds, yes. Blizzarding snow, no.

One of those mornings, the weather was all crazy. It was gently raining when I woke up for work. It was pouring by the time I left to catch the bus. I was semi-prepared - I had a Gustbuster umbrella, but a not-too-waterproof coat. I wasn't expecting the turn from gentle rain to pouring. The Gustbuster held up marvelously, as it should given its price and performance promise.

I work from 9-5, but Co-worker works from 10-6. So she gets in about an hour later than I do each day. Apparently in that hour-long window, the pouring rain turned into a raining-sideways monsoon. Or, more accurately, the nor;easter bared its teeth. Co-worker left her house and headed to the T. Unfortunately, halfway between her house and the subway stop, her umbrella taco'd. It folded in half, inside out. This left her with a conundrum. Run home or run onward to catch the train. She was halfway between. Which way to go?

She knew once she reached the station, she wouldn't have to be outside anymore that day, well, until the evening when she'd be walking back home after getting off the subway. She made a decision and hurried toward the subway stop. Inside the station, there are massive escalators, newspaper stands and an information booth. It was from the booth that the kindness came.

People leave things on the T all the time. I always laugh at the announcers (in my mind) when they remind us, "don't gorget to take your belongings." I mean, how can you forget your briefcase or purse or groceries. But I guess it's easier to forget the little things: the gloves, the hats, the umbrellas. So, the man at the information booth collects left-behind umbrellas, for just such a situation as this.

When he saw Co-worker come into the station, drenched without an umbrella in-hand, he offered one. One of the left-behinds. It was a lender, to be returned once she didn't need it anymore. Once she got home that night and found another one.

What a great, nice, kind, smart idea.

Kindness: Something Free

This story comes from a friend...
Friend was headed to a coffee shop one morning when she realized she didn't have cash on her. She thought, oh well, I'll just charge it. Which is fine unless the coffee shop has a minimum purchase amount. Which this one happened to have. And her lone cup of coffee wasn't nearly up to the minimum.

So, then she decided, instead of buying a pastry or something equally unhealthy from the refrigerated case, she'd just get some coffee beans. She looked at the selection and finally asked the guy behind the counter for his opinion - which one do you recommend?

He gave her some options and then realized that she was just trying to reach the minimum payment required. And he made a decision. He gave her the cup of coffee for free instead of making the larger sale. Which was really nice, and something you don't see often.

I mean, the coffee was probably $3, plus whatever the coffee beans were going to run. But, then again, the actual cost of the cup of coffee was probably pennies. So, he did the nice thing. And maybe something his manager won't like. But it was kind.

Kindness: A Dropped Glove

It's been bitterly cold here this past week. Like, in the teens and twenties with negative wind chills. Accordingly, people have piled on the layers, the scarves, the hats, the gloves...the gloves. There are hundreds, thousands of single gloves and mittens all over the city, all separated from their other half (see my other blog). There was a close call on the bus the other day.

I use my commute time to read. A lot. I'm usually totally zoned out until I look up and am surprised to see that we're at my stop. Such was the case last week. I was on the second leg of my commute home after a long day at work. The bus had just pulled up at the station, and I was lucky enough to grab a single seat. I was back into my tome, Vanity Fair, an 800-page serial collection that my book club decided to read (we were on a literature kick and may have been overly ambitious in our epic selection).

So I was getting back to it, trying to pay close attention to all the crazy characters and events in the book, trying to keep everything straight and keep up with the story, when a cute family got on the bus. Two little kids with their mom, and, by little I don't mean baby-young, but elementary-aged kids that were just super-petite, small. Cute stuff. They sat in the double-row across from me, tired after, presumably, a day at school and an after-school program. Shortly thereafter, a woman took the seat in front of me. All this I was vaguely aware of out of the corner of my eye as the other eye continued to read. As the woman got settled, I saw something flash by. maybe drop. But maybe it was just her arm, going up and down, adjusting her hat. So I kept on reading.

Nothing happened for a little while. I kept reading. Slowly, quietly, the little girl from across the row got up. In her slightly-too-big pink coat, she walked up to the woman and tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me," she said and, pointing to the ground beside her, "your glove." Hardly even a sentence. But, out of all the people sitting around the woman on the bus, the little girl was the only one who bothered to say something to her. To help her stay warm. To make sure that her gloves were not half-a-pair, but a full one.

It was almost a tan leather glove entry for my other blog. But with the help of a soft little voice, it wasn't.

Kindness: A Blind Man

There's a homeless man that hangs out near the subway stop near my office. He sits inside, by the window with his cart of who-knows-what. Sometimes he eats Little Debbie honey buns. Sometimes he has a cellphone plugged in, recharging. Sometimes he's asleep. He's often asleep. He doesn't really talk to anyone.

He seems to be losing his sight. He has a cane - like a old man cane with the curved top. But it's also white and red - like a blind man's cane.

One day last week I noticed he was missing. His cart was there, but he wasn't. Strange. So I continued on my way to the train - down the escalators, down the steps. I was reading my book, waiting on the outbound platform as the inbound train pulled into the station. After it pulled away, I heard tapping. I looked up and there he was. Scanning his way down the platform.

Maybe he'd ridden the train somewhere. Or maybe he'd just been sitting on a bench and decided to get up as the train left. Either way, he was on the move now. Slowly making his way toward the middle of the platform. He kept banging his cane against the tiled wall of the station, feeling his way along.

One of the (scarce) subway station workers walked up to him. Talked to him. Presumably asked him where he was trying to go. He said the elevator. So she took his arm, lead him up the handicapped ramp and pushed the up button on the elevator. She left him there as the doors opened. He made his way cautiously in after the ping of the elevator's arrival. As the doors slowly closed, I wondered how he'd figure out what buttons to push once inside. Since the blindness seemed to be more recent than not, I was pretty sure he didn't know braille. But I guess he figured it out and made it upstairs to be reunited with his cart.

Now, maybe subway workers are required to help handicapped people, whether they ask for aid or not. But, in my experience, they don't, or I don't see it. Unless it's grudgingly, and I mean sighing and muttering, helping a wheelchair onto the bus/train.
So, I'm calling this one an act of kindness. Even is it's expected.

Kindness: Standing up for Tourists

Last week, I was taking the T into town. To work. The second stop on the trip is at a museum. There's not a whole lot else at that stop, so when people get on or off the subway there, they're usually tourists.

That morning, two people got on from that stop, a middle-aged mom and her teenage daughter. The train was kind of full, but not packed. The mom found a single seat in the front of the car, and the daughter stood up near the middle.

A woman, probably mid-twenties, was sitting by herself in a double-seater row. She noticed the two get on. She saw them separate on the train. She stood up and offered the two seats to the tourists. They declined, but she insisted. Which in itself was super-nice because it's not as if the teenager and mom were incapable of sitting apart or standing. They finally, graciously accepted the seats.

They pulled out a map and were looking over it. They seemed to have a rough idea of where they were going and how to get there. The woman who vacated her seat stepped over to help them again. The T, especially the green line, is a little tricky as it goes west. So she helped them plan their trip. To get where they wanted to go.

Just a little morning kindness to start the day.