I flew back from
visiting the grandkids in Portland on Tuesday night, went to school to help
lead the Halloween ceremony on Wednesday and then set off on Thursday morning
to fly to Newark, New Jersey. I convinced my wife to arise early to get me to
the BART Train to the airport by 7:15am and arrived 9 minutes before the next
train was to leave. I decided to check some things on my computer while
waiting. A train came from the other direction and its wind blew my hat off. I
picked it up and set it on my knee and kept working.
The hat was a
Spanish gorra that I had bought in Spain many years ago, one in a long line of
hats that had to be replaced when I left them in movie theaters or restaurants
or such. This one I had managed to hang on to for many years now and besides
the sentimental value, I would need it for the cool weather I was heading into.
Immersed in my
work, I was surprised when my train arrived, quickly stuffed the computer in
the backpack, grabbed my two suitcases and went on board. I sat down and there
through the open doors, spied my hat out on the subway platform. What to do?
If I ran out to
get it, the doors might close and I would not only miss my train, but my
luggage would go on without me.
If I had had the
presence of mind to grab the luggage, go out and come back, I still probably
would have missed the train and thus, the plane.
If I left the hat
there, I would be grouchy for days and need to buy something once I arrived.
Of course, there
was no time to sit and actually contemplate these choices. The situation called
for immediate instinctive reaction. And so I placed myself one foot in the
train and one foot out so that the doors couldn’t close and shouted to the 15
people seated in the car, “Can someone take my place here so I can run out and
get my hat?” No reaction. 3 seconds later, someone was walking down the
platform and I asked them to hand me my hat, which they happily did, while the
loudspeaker voice was commanding, “Please steer clear of the doors. The doors
are closing.”
And so I sat back
down with my hat in hand. With not a single comment or smile or reaction from
the people in the car.
Now the hat on
the platform (good movie title?) had become symbolic of something larger. Why
hadn’t anyone helped me? Or at least seemed glad that I didn’t lose my hat. I’d
like to think that if it was a greater emergency, had I fainted on the floor or
had a stroke, that people would have gathered around to see how they could
help. Losing a hat is a pretty small deal, but the point is that I asked for
help in something that was important to me, something really simple for someone
to do (stand in the door or run out and get the hat while I held the door) and
no one did. And then everyone pretended that nothing had happened.
That’s food for
thought.
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