ALTRUISM

Kindness is not dead. Though we live in a world of nuclear capabilities and sailors are captured and nation-states posture at the drop of a hat and every time one looks at the news, one sees yet another story of sucide bombers at an Iraqi marketplace, kindness is not dead.

Though our great country is "led" by an ignorant chimpanzee and his vitriolic henchmen and -women, kindness is still sometimes apparent, albeit as unforeseen as a rose poking out of the cracked cement of a grafitti-besmirched metropolis.

Though the weather outside, here in Michigan, matches the tone and/or the future of the country--bleak and gray and cold, heartless--sometimes one is surprised by the kindness of strangers.

Random acts of kindness--pass them on.

I was driving down the highway, yesterday, after a meeting, and I was tooling along at my usual 80-miles-per-hour clip and, suddenly, my car went "Ka-LUNK! LUNK!"

I asked Wendy what the hell was that and she said that she didn't know and I continued on for about 50 feet until it was undeniably apparent that I'd hit something in the road and blown my front right tire. I was two lanes over from the right shoulder and there was little traffic, so, luckily, it was somewhat easy to slap on the hazard lights and angle over to the safe-zone. I got over to the slow lane and pulled onto the shoulder, just underneath the viaduct. I cut no one off, though some fucking tool felt it was his or her obligation to lay on the horn as he or she passed at 75 miles-per-hour.

Wendy said, "Oh, Adam."

I said that I guessed I'd hit something and I got out, careful to look in the side mirror before I did. (The day was turning to night and the roads were slick and it is a holiday weekend and I knew that some imbibers could be on the road...safety first, kids.) I got out and ambled over to the passenger side of the car. The front right tire was shredded. Whatever I had hit had done its damage posthaste, and with an evil gleam in its eye.

I shrugged. Time to brush up on my tire-changing skillz. No biggie.

I wandered to the back of the Focus and popped the trunk. Listen: I just moved. That's my excuse, see? My trunk was (and is) filled with all sorts of shit. Just...shit. Basketballs, Frisbees, empty windshield wiper fluid bottles, slingshots, a bike helmet, firewood, a racketball racket, a half-full bottle of Armor-All...a spare tire (thank God) but no tire iron (help me, God).

I was fucked.

To make matters worse, Wendy and I were anxious to get home to play some checkers and she had only a limited amount of time...and but yet. I had no tire iron. I looked blankly at the wheel and internally cursed myself for misplacing said tire iron.

With all the shit from the trunk scattered on the shoulder behind the car (I wanted to make it perfectly apparent to all motorists to slow the fuck down and drive with caution.) I climbed into the car and began to scrummage through the glove compartment for a phone number that I could call. I have roadside assistance through my insurance carrier and then was as good a time as any to put them to the test. Problem was, I was wholly unorganized. The only phone number that I could find was a number that would connect me to the payments department. I called that, assuming that they could direct me to where I had to go.

Having no policy number available to give to them, the process bogged down and, ten minutes later, I was still on hold (high call volume), waiting for them to patch me through.

As I waited on the phone, I glanced in my rearview mirror and I saw a Jeep Cherokee slowing down behind me on the shoulder, its hazard lights flashing. I stayed on the phone for a beat longer and, seeing the man climbing out of the driver's side door, snapped the phone shut.

I scanned the highway for safety and got out and walked over to the guy.

It turned out that the guy's name was Shannon and he and his girlfriend had been driving from Waterford (like us) down I-75 to around 10 Mile and Stephenson (like us). It turned out that he'd grown up right across the street from where I have played Frisbee golf my whole life and it also turned out that he is a master mechanic. They'd driven past us and taken an exit ramp a mile or two down the road and had circled back to see if they could help. (By the way, all that shit in the trunk? It had helped. The guy had seen it scattered behind the car and said to his girlfriend that it looked like we needed some help. We did.)

He had only a tire iron designed specifically for Jeeps but--amazing--it turned out that it fit perfectly on my Ford Focus's nuts. The guy was like a NASCAR pit crew chief. Wham-bam-boom--the shredded tire was changed and the slightly-flat doughnut was in its place.

I offered him money; I had to. I know that, when I help someone, the simple act of kindness is good enough for me (all those good brain chemicals!), but I still had to at least offer the guy some kaish.

He wouldn't hear of it. Was almost offended that I had offered. "Pay it forward," he said. "I'm not a Jesus freak--but I do believe in Him and God--"

"So do I," I said.

"--and good things happen to good people. Just pay it forward. You ever see that movie? My girl and I just saw it last weekend."

I admitted that I had not--little Haley Joel kinda makes my skin crawl, for some reason...though Helen Hunt turns me on, for some reason--but I told Shannon that I was familiar with it. "I know," I said, "this world needs a hell of a lot more kindness. How about a good handshake, then?" I asked, feeling like a tool.

We shook hands and he and his girlfriend took off and Wendy and I were on our way. Total time on the shoulder: 20 minutes.

I had never lost my cool; I'd never started swearing and throwing things. It'd been what it'd been. A flat tire. Nothing to get bent out of shape about. Shit happens. And it's good to see that good people are still out there and are willing to help.

Next purchase? A tire iron.