Some days just restore my faith in humanity.
Saturday was supposed to be a great day. For six months I had been looking forward to my annual week in the Outer Banks. Anytime work was getting me down, I would picture myself on the beach and remind myself that in June I was getting seven glorious days to relax in the sun. Finally the day had arrived.
To make the week even better, I was supposed to start my trip with a photo shoot in the National Gallery’s Sculpture Garden – a free headshot as part of a Fringe show I’m stage managing. And so, it was on the way to D.C. that it hit – Bad Vacation Luck.
I got a flat tire. My second in a week.
It also led to my meeting a bunch of genuinely nice people in a city not necessarily known for its genteel nature. They were so supremely nice that I felt this story deserved to be shared.
I was traveling down 50W, excited that I was actually going to be on time for my shoot, when a very sweet couple honked their horn and motioned for me to roll down my window.
Them: Did you know that you have a flat tire?
Me: (incredulous) Are you serious?!
Them: Yeah, and it looks really low.
Me: Ok, thanks for letting me know.
They didn’t have to tell me, and I would probably have driven around for another 20 minutes before I realized that something just didn’t feel right. They also let me merge in front of them when I got in the wrong lane on 7th St. in my panic to still get to the Sculpture Garden on time without demolishing my tire rim.
I didn’t make it to the Sculpture Garden. As it turns out, Saturday was Race for the Cure in D.C., and certain streets were closed off for the Race - certain streets on which I had planned to park. So I ended up stopped with my hazard lights on in the middle of the right-hand lane of Pennsylvania Avenue. It was there that two middle-aged couples (who were clearly tired after participating in the Race) stayed with me for 40 minutes while trying to help me change my tire. They pulled their Jeep around and offered their jack when mine was giving us trouble. When it became clear that my tire was rusted to the axle and wasn’t going to come off, they tried filling it with Fix-a-Flat so that I could at least make it to the nearest gas station.
Of course, we were dealing with Bad Vacation Luck, so as it ended up there was a hole in my intake valve, and the Fix-a-Flat just leaked all over the street. After all of that effort, I had to call AAA, who could hopefully sledgehammer my tire off the axle and replace it with my spare. And in the end, they apologized to me for not being able to help more, when I was overwhelmed with gratitude for everything they had done. And then they were worried about someone slamming into my car while it was in the lane, and they asked me to hang out on the sidewalk so I wouldn’t get hurt.
The AAA guy came in record time, and all so he could tell me that there was nothing he could do for me. He had to call a tow truck to take me to the nearest tire center, but he had them put me on the priority list since I was, technically, in the middle of traffic. He kindly explained exactly what was wrong with the tire, where I should go, and what I should ask them to fix, all while letting me pet the dog who rides along with him to calls. He left only when he was sure that I would be all right.
Then a D.C. police officer pulled up behind my car, and I was sure that my good fortune was over. He was going to ream me out for stopping where I had, and give me a ticket. My heart was pounding as I prepared for the forthcoming confrontation. Instead, he looked at my sympathetically as I explained my situation, and told me, “I’m going to set up some flares, and I’ll be back to check on you periodically, OK?” At this point, so many strangers had shown their concern for me that I was nearly in tears. I barely held it together when a young boy passed with his father and brother and turned to shout, “Good luck!” after his father quietly explained what I was doing in the middle of the street.
After about an hour, the tow truck got there, and the driver took me into Arlington, VA. His son had gone to his 8th grade semi-formal the night before, so he was tired, but it didn’t keep him from making sure I was completely squared away before he gave me my keys and left.
And so I went to talk to the man behind the desk of Arlington Auto Inc., a young man named Cesar. I explained my problem, and he said he would have to look at the tire before he knew how much he’d have to work on it. He hoped he would be able to finish it by the next night, but I’d have my car back by Monday at the latest. I had never considered that they might not have time to fix my car before they closed.
And then the dams I’d been holding all day broke. I was stressed, tired, and now potentially stuck in Virginia. And so I cried. I couldn’t help it.
Cesar looked at me in alarm. I apologized and tried to get a hold of myself, but before I could, he told me, “You know what, I’m going to go look at your car right now. I’ll see what I can do for you. I just don’t want to make a girl cry.”
And off he went. An hour later my spare was on and he had given me a discount on a replacement spare so that I could make it to North Carolina without further incident. Before I left, I got directions to the highway from a guy who was dropping his car off, and suggestions of places to eat from a girl who was picking her car up.
I didn’t interact with a single person on Saturday who wasn’t completely willing to go out of their way to help me, a complete stranger. Yes, I got to the beach five hours later than I’d planned, but I might not have made it at all without them. It reminded me that there are still sincerely nice people in the world, and that I want to be one of them.
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