A Call for Action
A year and a half into our marriage passed blissfully by before the strangeness began. Nothing could divide us but the happenings would reveal how our bond would evolve. I write "strangeness" because I don't know what to call these occurrences. I'm sure a more accurate word in the metaphysical realm exists. Perhaps synchronicity or fate or coincidence is more appropriate. The strangeness I'm referring to is a chain of events that occurred in a short period.
Before our marriage, my wife Linda worked in public safety. For ten years, she labored as a medic on an ambulance and two as a 911 dispatcher. She's also been a men's fashion sales representative, a zoo worker, and a waitress. She'd was continuously employed by working with the public in some form or another.
As a teenager, the only jobs where I dealt with customers involved retail stores and an amusement park. Later in life, I toiled in the insulated worlds of factories, labs, offices, and cubicles, working with the same people day in and day out. My wife's an extrovert, and I'm an introvert. We're complete opposites who found each other in a floating sea of wandering souls. Guess opposites do attract.
Another trait I love about my wife is her compassion for people and animals. She has incredible patience with individuals — so much I didn't understand. I could easily blow off a person without much regard to their situation and not wanting to be bothered with people's problems while I dealt with my own. I always thought you should take care of your issues by yourself without burdening others.
Early into our marriage, she stated numerous times she thought we should adopt a puppy. I resisted because I didn't want the responsibility. In addition, when dogs discover they can lie on your mattress, good luck ever getting them off. Linda broke me down. I surprised her by bringing home a yellow Labrador puppy, the same puppy she went to check out at a breeder's house the week before. The dog possessed more spunk and energy than I anticipated. She liked her, the friskiest one in the litter, one who begged to be picked up with a loud bark—the Alpha of the pack.
We soon found out a simple walk in the neighborhood wouldn't be enough exercise for puppy Riley to calm down. We hauled her to a field every day to throw endless balls and Frisbees. In addition, I would play tug of war for a half hour to make her tired, so she would stop demanding our attention all night.
On a trip to a new dog hangout, we came upon a vehicle's flashing taillights in the middle of the road right in front of a park. We pulled alongside the massive SUV and peered into the window. The blacked-out glass rolled down to reveal the face of a twentysomething blonde woman with a cell phone pressed to her ear. She put it down to tell us she ran out of gas.
My wife quickly offered my services. I eyeballed this urban assault vehicle and wondered if I should try to push this thing to the service station a block away. The Hummer obstructed half of the road. I started pushing it down the street while our driver went back to her phone business. Moving three tons down the street by only me required strength I rarely use. While I toiled, Linda brought Riley to the park’s grassy area.
I buried my head into my chest and tried my damnest to keep the forward momentum. A surge of power helped move the car ahead, and I turned to my left to find another man helping me. We were soon pushing the beast ten feet per minute, with at least forty to fifty yards to make it the station.
I peered over my shoulder to the park and spotted Linda standing over a limp body lying on the ground. She bent down to talk to the man and tend to his needs. I told my fellow pusherman to glance over at what just happened. We both stopped while the Hummer rolled to a halt. My buddy glanced at his wristwatch then burst into a full-blown sprint to the scene across the street. I squawked,
"Where are you going? We're so close?"
He peered back and exclaimed, "I'm a policeman."
Meanwhile, the woman stuck her head out the window and asked what's going on. I pointed to the man on the ground, and she proceeded to dial 911. I asked if she would help me push the remaining distance. When the young blonde stepped out, an alarm went off because all these men came to her rescue. Two young guys arrived out of nowhere and started to assist us in moving the vehicle.
I glanced back to catch the crisis happening in the park. The body still lay sprawled on the ground with the off-duty officer crouched over him with his hand underneath the victim's head.
The two other men and I pushed the Hummer into the driveway. As soon as we finished, I ran over to the other problem. I laughed to myself about this crazy situation as one of the weirdest things to ever happen to me. When I got to the scene, the cop told me to buy some candy and orange juice at the station's store. I stood there confused. Candy? Orange juice?
"He's in diabetic shock and needs some sugar."
"Oh, oh okay," I muttered.
I ran back towards the station like some crime fighter. I went into the little store and searched through the candy display, settling on Lifesavers. I also grabbed a couple of Hershey bars along with a bottle of orange juice. Unfortunately, two people stood ahead of me in line.
"Hey, a guy is in diabetic shock across the street," I blurted out.
The older man in front of me appeared confused, but the lady behind the counter told me to run out and worry about paying later. This being the first time I didn't feel ripped off at that high-priced gas station store.
I ran back again; that's three sprints in five minutes, the most I've run since high school. I gave the items to the cop, who oversaw the guy as he sat on a bench. He and Linda tried to console the man. He acted calm yet dazed. I heard the siren coming up the street, which didn't take long. We might have caught the crew in between heart attacks and car accidents.
The paramedics pulled up and jumped the curb. Two medics got out. We all stood back and let them do their jobs; basically, the same thing the cop and my wife did. They assessed the situation and decided to give him a glucose stick instead of the candy I bought. I thought a pineapple lifesaver could snap the guy out of his catatonic-like state as well as the glucose stick, but they're the experts.
The man finally came around then started mumbling about being okay. He tried to reason with us by saying he only wanted some shut-eye. He ended up refusing to be transported to the hospital. A warm bed and a meal didn't appeal to him, so the paramedics stayed another ten minutes before leaving for another emergency. The cop (a young fellow with large biceps) beamed with pride since he used safety skills.
We ended up talking to the man on the bench. William being his name, but he preferred Willy. He lived in a group home of sorts (meaning he's one step above being homeless). My wife told me to give him some cash. I reluctantly paid because I wanted to hoard my poker winnings from the night before, a whopping eighteen dollars. She gave me a look that said, "Hey! Don't be a cheapskate, fork the money over."
After I gave Willy my whole bounty, we got back in the truck and headed home. I reached over to high five my wife because I participated in the solutions for both cases. Linda had experienced all too many times this kind of action. For me, however, this took place in a new realm — and left me with a heroic state of mind for a fleeting moment. Who doesn't want to be a superhero?
When bizzaro happened again a month later in a bar, I thought, "here we go again." On this particular evening, Linda and I went out for some happy hour endeavors, and her sister Christine, a nurse. The time to react presented itself when a man who sat with another fellow collapsed on the dance floor. The victim's friend immediately knelt on the ground beside him, trying to figure out what to do. Others gathered around, wondering if they could do anything at all to help him.
My wife and her sister looked at each other without saying a word. With a single nod, the two of them jumped off their bar stools and went to tend to the man. They wiggled their way through the small crowd and bent down to assess the situation. I threw back one more gulp of beer and went over to join them. I peered over people's heads to see what happened. The two of them knelt on the floor with the guy. Linda put a wadded-up coat underneath his head while Christina knelt beside him with her hand on his shoulder. She checked her watch as she timed his actions.
I asked if anybody called an ambulance to make myself useful and be part of the "rescue team." An onlooker told me the man is experiencing an epileptic seizure. I have never seen a person go through a disorder like this, where they react by going into a zombie-like state with brief moments of shaking and stiffened muscles. The sister tandem kept the man on the floor in the same position, not to be moved and excited.
The paramedics arrived ten minutes later to find the victim coming out of the grips of the epileptic moment. He sat up and seemed more embarrassed than ill. Linda and Christina walked away to let the professionals do their job.
We resumed drinking our cocktails, but I acted more animated about what transpired than them. For these two, this was just another day at the office. Again, these are the sort of things that would never happen in front of me. But after this incident, I became more used to these kinds of human interactions in my life.
The next chapter of Johnny on the Spot happened when we went shopping at an outdoor mall. My wife loves gems, so I found myself dragged into a jewelry store. As we examined new pieces for her upcoming birthday, I began thinking about how much this might impact my wallet. I should be thankful she isn't into expensive homes, luxury cars, or Nordstroms.
The saleswomen presented gems and told us how lovely they shined on Linda's finger. I broke the spell this saleswoman tried conjuring by casually turning to look outside. My eyes caught the sight of an older woman who tripped and fell face-first onto the concrete. The kind of spill that does physical damage. A younger woman with her bent down with a terrified face.
I shouted out,
"Oh no, that lady is hurt."
I swiftly turned to the exit before Linda caught wind of what happened. I arrived first on the scene, followed by Linda, who bolted by me to the victim still lying on the concrete.
The woman on the ground, well into her eighties, bled from her nose. When the daughter tried to lift her, she whimpered in pain and began crying. Linda directed me to go into her purse and pull out her tissues. I'm errand boy again but focused on getting this situation under control. A group of ten or so people gathered around us to lend their support, or maybe they stood in shock like I used to. It is so unsettling to see people bleeding and crumpled over, and crying in pain.
The old lady fell from old wobbly legs. When I witnessed her collapse, a burst of superpower juice jolted through my body into a forward momentum towards the door; a year earlier, I would be watching others tend to the matter while I went about my business. But now, I helped the woman by wiping the blood from her arm, hand, and face.
We spent twenty minutes outside the mall with her while the daughter drove their car close enough to load her in. The woman appeared not to have any broken bones but sore from a possible sprained ankle. Linda and I went about our shopping, but this time was different. Even though I felt valiant, which lifted my spirits, I gained more perspective by understanding my wife a little more and why she held this instinct. She was employed as a public servant, not for big paychecks, but because it gave her life meaning.
Perhaps being a first responder would carry on for the rest of my life. Oddly, only a month later, while attending a Mother's Day brunch, round four happened. As I loitered alone at a self-service buffet table in a restaurant, a worker came over to change out the empty pans. The hot dishes were kept warm by cans of Sterno, a small can containing a wax-like flammable material.
The man mishandled the pan, and the whole Sterno set-up crashed to the ground. The hot goo spilled onto the floor and began burning the carpet. His first reaction was to stamp out the flame. Instead of extinguishing the flame, his pants caught fire.
Without any second thought, I grabbed a tablecloth on an empty table next to the buffet. I smothered the flame on his legs, then took a towel and beat the Sterno burning on the carpet.
This scary little scene all played out in less than a minute. Those who saw it clapped. I checked on the worker to make sure he was okay. He acted flustered but not hurt. I proceeded to scoop up more eggs and bacon. This time I didn't receive any rapture or euphoria of being heroic.
I knew it was my duty to help this man. I didn't want to be overly dramatic about the incident. Besides, the worker was already embarrassed by letting the fire happen in the first place. The restaurant insisted on giving me a free meal, but I refused, feeling it unnecessary. I found out later they gave our whole party a significant discount.
The moral of this tale is not a karma thing, nor is it about a good deed that should be rewarded. It's about being a decent human being and helping others when they need assistance. Sadly, this is not something you are taught in a school curriculum but something you learn at home and eventually on your own. In my case, I have a great mentor who doesn't think twice when people and animals are in distress.
Now, years later, after those series of incidents transpired, I find myself on the lookout for situations that can go wrong. If I come across another person about to drop their load of groceries or lumber, I react to help instead of turning away. I carry first-aid bags in all our vehicles and think I'm ready for duty when needed. If I never jump in and assist another person in distress again, it won't be because I wasn't available. I learned my lesson years ago, and I only hope others like myself respond to the call for action when it matters.