It started at 96th street.
A coworker was generously giving me a ride to work. (Samson, my car, was in the shop.) He lived on the other side of town. I was not on his way to work.
The car sputtered. He tried to turn the key again. The car wasn’t budging. He tried to turn the key again. We were out of gas. The gas gauge on his car didn’t work. And decided to laugh at us.
So there we were. Dead in the water. Er, dead in the middle of the street. Stranded at a red light. We both got out our phones, attempting to reach people who could bring us gas. Suddenly a guy appeared at the window. He worked nearby and would get us some gas.
Off he went.
Next, we pushed the car to the side of the road. I had flashbacks to high school. Pushing a boyfriend’s Datsun B-210 so he could pop the clutch and get the car started. (Or him pushing and me popping the clutch.) How fun. It was an adventure. An unusual Thursday. And it made me feel like a spry seventeen year old.
No sooner did we climb back in the car then a road worker who was laying cable nearby came over. He placed a work cone—one of those orange-colored cones—behind the car so people wouldn’t mistake us as turning right.
Things kept mysteriously happening. Would coffee be next? Would someone show up with morning bagels for us?
Within a minute or two, the first guy magically appeared with gas. Our good Samaritan poured a gallon or two into the gas tank and rode away. As did we.
All of this happened within ten minutes….and I was left with a warm fuzzy feeling of gratitude. Grateful for the coworker who offered to take me to work (after dropping me home the night before). Grateful for the stranger who appeared with gas. Grateful for the other stranger who was thoughtful enough to place a work cone behind the car. Grateful to be in my home state of Indiana.
Grateful for Hoosier hospitality.