Random Acts

I don't know if I'm a good person. I do good things, I know that. Somehow I've managed to cultivate an evolved sense of politeness in which I take pride. I hold doors for people, I pick up things other people drop, I'm hyperaware of the comfort of those around me and try extra hard not to inconvenience or annoy anybody, and I do all these things instinctually.

The trouble is, when I'm doing these things, I'm not always pure of heart. If you were in my head as I was holding the door for someone who doesn't thank me, you'd likely hear me think "Yeah, you're welcome, dicklick." If they didn't lunge fast enough to take it from me, it'd be something like "Step it up, you fat bitch," while my face betrayed none of that inner poison. Sometimes a stink eye will find its way out for someone remarkably ungratious, but for the most part, all I seem is patient and kind.

Yet there's no question about performing the virtuous act. One never goes through a door without looking behind to see if someone is following. One never takes a seat on the subway until everyone else who wants one has taken one. One always stays to the side when one walks and remains aware of people who may be coming up behind and want to pass. That's just the way.

This morning, while waiting for a light to change, I was tasked with the quintessential example of modern chivalric obeisance: an old lady asked for help crossing the street.

My first thought was not "Yes, I'll help you." That's a given. I'd offered her my arm before even processing her request. This left my mind available to start thinking hateful things about this nice old lady. It began with a realization: "Wait," I thought. "What the fuck am I doing here? You don't need help crossing the street! You just walked TO the street! How is walking across it any different!?"

So there we went, hobbling across the street while she pushed one of those cart things filled with crap old people use to go grocery shopping. She couldn't get it over any of the cracks in the road, and I didn't like her struggling, so like the gentleman I am, I asked if I could push it for her. She replied that she needed it for balance as her left knee does not bend. "Fine," I thought. "Now all I have to do is yank it from under you and I can make my escape."

Eventually the light turned while we were still in the middle of the street. "I'm glad you're here. These cars wouldn't wait if you weren't," she said. I smiled and replied, "Yeah, I'm pretty noticable." What I was thinking, however, is "What!? Are you being sarcastic!? People can see you fine! The only reason people would run you over is because you're in their damn way, and by the way, I totally appreciate being dragged into that crossfire." I got to make a nasty face while thinking this, thank God, because I had to shoot the stink eye at a guy glaring at us from his car. My eye said "Screw you, plug!" but my brain said "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Finally, after walking for 40 days and 40 nights, we arrived at the opposite curb. She thanked me graciously, saying "You're a very nice young man!", and she even apologized for holding me up. I said "Don't mention it! It's a lovely morning, and I'm in no hurry. You have great day now," though I'm not sure she caught that last part because I spun on my heel and high-tailed it out of there like PWING! And I thought: "Wow, what a nice lady! I feel like I did a good thing today. But GOD, I don't know how those fucking old people get ANYTHING done!"