Romance Is Not Dead; Just a Little Peculiar

Tonight's story happened four years ago, but it's one of the best random acts of kindness that I have ever experienced, and a great story, so I've decided to share it with you.

 I was living in my friend Sheila's basement (near Grand Rapids) about a year after my divorce, and I was planning to return to college for my Master's Degree. In order to do so, I decided to start looking in advance for a job in the vicinity. The local papers contained very little employment within my realm of expertise - mostly for experienced welders and auto technicians - so I decided to try my hand at the position closest to feasible: Telemarketing.

 This particular telemarketing office had such a high turn-over of employees that they called me immediately upon receiving my application and asked to interview me. Encouraged by this turn of events, I dressed to the nines, as they say, and hopped into my 1993 Ford Taurus (best vehicle available to me in my reduced circumstances) for the 45 minute drive. I was delighted by this positive turn of events and excited for my future in wheedling innocent victims to fund research for various causes while their dinners were cooling on their tables.

As I drove, I thought about my decision to go back to college. My entire family thought it was the best thing possible for me. My ex-husband had all but forbidden me to take any more classes while we were married because he saw it as a waste of time and money. He was eager for me to start teaching full time so that he could retire and do what he wanted to do with his life. When local teaching jobs didn't fall into my lap, things went sour. He refused to relocate, or to find a better job himself. Among many other issues that arose between us, this one created quite a strain on our weak little union. It felt so good to be free and driving to that interview! It wasn't a teaching job, but it was a step in the right direction. When student teaching and later in permanent sub positions, I had been concerned by how many of my high school students couldn't read well. Now I was I was going for a reading specialist endorsement and working on strengthening my knowledge of exceptional students and lesson planning skills. I wasn't certain if this would make me more marketable, but I was certain that it would make me a better teacher. I felt as if I was finally getting my life back on track.

Ironically, now we had joint custody of our children I would never be able to re-locate for a job anyway.

 I reached Ye Olde College Town a little later than I expected, so when I came to the stoplight at an intersection it was naturally red.

And naturally just then my car's engine stopped dead.

Silence.

I turned the key.

The engine wouldn't turn over at all.

(Um, I think that's the phrase. Heh heh heh. I don't know a thing about cars.
I'm the kind of gal that makes auto mechanics rub their hands together and stretch bumper grins.)

 The light turned green.

Desperately, I gave the key another crank.

Nothing.

The light turned red.

The cars behind me began tuning up their horns. I didn't know what to do.

Flustered, I turned on my hazard lights and got out my cell phone to call the insurance agency.

The overly pleasant automated voice blasted, “Hello! Welcome to Liberty Mutual! If you are calling to make a claim, please press one…”

The light turned green again.

“If you are calling to report your vehicle lost or stolen, please press two…”

I started mouthing the words.

(Hey, I’d called the number a few times before. What can I say?)

“If you are calling…”

Just then, I was startled by a loud rap on the window beside me.

A middle-aged woman in some sort of Mumu had pressed her round, livid face against the glass and was screaming at me. “Hey in there, fucking moron! What the fuck are you sitting here for?! Don’t you give a shit that there’s a whole line of people behind you who actually have better things to do today than wait around for you to move your ass?!!!”

That was highly uncalled for.

Being somewhat sensitive to people raising their voices at me and calling me names, I had to swallow down a lump before pointing out what I considered to be the Obvious: “My car has stalled. It will not start. I am on the phone with the insurance agency. I have my hazard lights on. How about getting back into your truck and going around me?”

I believe she called me a fucking bitch before stomping back to her truck. I glared at my phone hotly for a few minutes, my eyes stinging.

Now she’d gone and made me miss my cue to press six.

I could think of more imaginative expletives for her if she cared to come back and have a listen.

Someone tapped on the window. Gearing up to be more assertive this time, I rolled down the window and saw a smiling cowboy leaning to peer at me from under the brim of his tall black hat.

Huh. A cowboy in Western Michigan. I suppose it made sense.

“Can I help you in some way, Ma’am?”

I explained my situation, ending with, “Thanks anyway – I’m sure roadside assistance will take care of things once I get them on the phone.”

“How about we get this car out of the way for you first?”

I looked around. Cars were moving around me when the lights turned green, their owners leaning heavily on their horns and shooting hard, seething stares at me as they passed.

 “Should I get out so we can push?” I asked anxiously.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Ma’am. You just put your car in neutral, sit back, relax, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

 I did as I was told, other than the relaxing part. I felt awkward allowing a total stranger to exert himself so on my behalf. He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt and leaned his long, slim body into the back of my car. It moved smoothly past gawking people on the sidewalk, swearing people in their cars, and sailed on through the intersection to a safe little side road.

 I thanked the man profusely, climbing out of my car and stumbling around in my heels to the sidewalk where he stood. Coming face to face with his kindly smile, I looked up and said, flustered, “I don’t even know your name…”

 With a tip of his hat, he said “They call me Cowboy Jeff, Ma’am.”

 

He straddled his bicycle and pedaled away into the sunset.