Rude, crude and lewd have replaced please, thank you and you’re welcome as the common interface between people. That’s my impression as a decades-long resident in the metro-burbs.
Recently, I did a time travel back to where I used to be which can best be described as an 1100-mile loop out through the countryside where corn, cows and chickens rule the roost. I visited long-since-finished construction that had been a source of early employment: an Amish colony and the school where I persevered long enough to get my engineering degree. There were more historic sites, at least as they related to my life, but the purpose of this discussion is to express my appreciation for real, nice, old-fashioned folks of which I used to be one.
We —my wife, daughter and I— were on the next to last leg of our journey when, while headed down hill on a two- lane highway, a really ugly, metallic scrapping sound issued from the underside of my car. After pulling off on a side road, I managed to get prone on the gravel to peer under the car (spry is no longer a physical attribute I can claim) and saw the twisted remains of a heat shield under the engine.
This was definitely a What now? moment. It’s amazing how many really bad images can flood your mind all at once. There’s the really bad movie you saw about city slickers stranded in a small town with no transportation; the exorbitant charge for a minor repair and the evil sheriff with liquor on his breath and lewd in his eyes. The word ransom comes to mind.
We hadn’t been there five minutes when a white pick-up pulled over and a really nice gentleman with a friendly smile got out to see what kind of trouble we were in. He peered under the car and was able to bend the crumpled metal up off the road. This was something I couldn’t reach. He then recommended a garage a couple of miles down the road who could fix it, gave directions and then turned his truck around to lead us there.
All the bays were full of customer cars being worked on, but they pulled one out and put my car up on a rack. Within fifteen minutes it was fixed and they pulled it out and handed me the keys. When I asked what I owed him, he thought for a moment and said “Five dollars.” Not $50 or $500 which I would have had no choice but to pay. Five dollars!
The kind gentleman who rescued us off the gravel road later identified himself as the police chief. (He was wearing no uniform.) So much for evil, drunk and lewd sheriffs.
There is an epilogue to this story.
An hour down the road, we stopped for gas. My wife and daughter went inside while I filled the tank. I noticed a woman on the other side of the pumps who was fiftyish, not unattractive and neatly dressed. After some hesitancy, she approached me timidly to ask if I could spare two dollars.
And so, I got the opportunity to repay the huge favor done for me by helping someone else with their own unique distress. Can you imagine a culture based on helping each other? Naw, that’s way too deplorable.
