Hooray for the lady in the purple dress

[icarus]

Yesterday an exhausted, over-heated dog was tied up in the blazing sun outside the post office. A big black lady in a purple dress pulled up in a new Honda.

She finished her errands, glanced over at the dog... then bought some bottled water and rummaged around in her car for something to use as a water dish. It didn't work well, a lot spilled, but puppy-dog lapped it up happily, obviously very thirsty. She drove away, without applause or fanfare, expecting none.

I'm still grinning.

On another note, apparently people announce these things. So, my friendslist hit 500 a few weeks ago.

I feel like I should have a prize for the 500th customer. *ding*

Comments

[noblerot.livejournal.com]

What a wonderful story. Thanks so much for sharing it. I tend to be pessimistic about the human race -- maybe I should stop watching the news -- but little moments like this make my heart creak in a very nice way.

It also reminds me of a story from my own history... I suppose because it also involved a big black lady. In this case, a bus driver.

About 10 years ago, a packed Muni bus was sputtering over the hill linking the Castro and Noe Valley. It was the far end of evening rush hour, and the stinky vehicle was packed with tired, cranky people on their way home from work.

We stopped at a light, and that's when we saw it: On the opposite corner, a group of five yahoos surrounded a frightend young man, shoving and threatening and insulting and generally doing all the things that are precursors to what used to be called a fag-bashing. Yes, these things happen even in San Francisco.

Everyone saw. A murmur of outrage rippled through the bus. Yet nobody moved. Because fear of physical harm can derail the best of intentions. Because we're so used to watching horror that we've forgotten how to act.

Nobody moved... except one person.

The bus driver slammed on the bus's emergency break, wrenched open the door, and heaved her gigantic frame -- oh, she was big -- from the driver's seat and out the door.

"YOU LEAVE THAT BOY ALONE!" she roared, swooping down on the yahoos like an avenging fury in a brown polyster uniform. "YOU HEAR ME? YOU LEAVE THAT BOY ALONE!"

With that, the bus came alive. Commuters let out a collective roar and poured down the steps after the driver, waving fists and umbrellas. The yahoos looked at each other. They looked at the wave of outrage and clenched fists. But mostly they looked at the bus driver -- oh, she was so big -- bearing down on them, and in her eyes they saw no mercy.

They ran. The driver gathered the young man, who had started crying -- so small, so fragile, practically a teenager -- into her massive arms, steered him back to the bus and put in a call to the police. And we followed her and waited for the cops to arrive, flushed with the rediscovery that we could fight, that the mundane horrors of the world needn't defeat us ever time, that one person could loom large and make a difference.

It was a good night.

So that's my story, inspired by yours. Brief moments, small gestures, acts of compassion and courage that inspire us to keep getting out of bed every morning. We need more of them.

[merrycontrary.livejournal.com]

Okay, maybe it's that I know that bus line (and what it's like in rush hour), or that I can so easily call to mind the muni uniform. Or maybe it's just hormone-based wibbling combined with homesickness. But in any case, I am all teary and smiling now. Thank you.

And Icarus, thank you for sharing the story of the lady in the purple dress. Human kindness really is out there, everyday. If we just remember to look for it. Geez, I'm all mushy today.

Thank you, ladies, for making my day.