After a long overdue visit—14 years!— with an old college friend in his beautiful country home in the Shenandoah Valley, I drove a couple of hours on Rt. 81 in Virginia for the third time in three days. Arrived at the Roanoke Airport and the entire procedure of returning the rental car, getting my ticket and getting through security took about 15 minutes. Total. Things were looking good.
That is, until my 8:00 pm flight was changed to 8:30, then 9:00, now 9:45. Meaning I miss my connection in Washington DC, but will get a bonus (?) night in a hotel room there. Meanwhile, I was counting on some food and in this small airport, all is closed. One place was dark, no people, but a cooler with yogurts and a bowl of bananas. So I reached in and took one of each just as a policewoman strolled in.
I asked, “Do you know of any way I can pay for this or just leave some money on the counter? My plane is almost two hours delayed and I’m hungry.”
Her reply? “I can’t tell you what to do. All I can say is I’m walking over this way.”
And she turned around and walked away, with an understood wink between us.
Sometimes kind people, even in uniforms, do the right thing.
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