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| We congratulated ourselves for making a last-minute route change, missing a sudden paralyzing snow and ice storm that closed roads and knocked out electricity in Tennessee, Georgia, North Carolina, and most of Virginia. We would make it in time for dinner. We pulled off I-81 at Lexington, Virginia, for a rest stop and a cup of coffee. We were two hours from a crackling wood fire and a quiet Christmas in the Virginia countryside. We buckled our seat belts and took a sip of hot coffee, rolling slowly down the driveway toward the road. Suddenly the car jerked and stopped, our reverie broken by awful grinding metal sounds. "It’s the transmission," I muttered. All the auto dealers and car rental places were closed for Christmas. So at 4 p.m. on Christmas Eve I handed the phone book back to the woman behind the counter, feeling helpless and hopeless. "It looks like I’m out of luck," I said, "unless you rent cars." "No," she said, "I don’t rent cars, but you can take my car." "Well I would want to pay you," I said, dumbfounded. But she dismissed my offer. "No," she said smiling, looking embarrassed.. It’s Christmas." The woman insisted we take her car to finish our trip, so our Christmas wouldn't be ruined. She handed her car keys over to two strangers she’d never seen until 15 minutes earlier. Her car was loaded down with Christmas presents, but she cheerfully stacked them over in a corner of the convenience store. She called her sister to pick her up later, and to make sure she could get to and from work the next day, Christmas Day. She still wouldn't hear a word of my offer to pay her. Incredulous, I thanked her, and gave her my business card, promising to bring her car back the day after Christmas. We loaded our things into her car and drove away. We arrived at our inn on schedule, having driven the last 140 miles in a stranger’s silver Cadillac DeVille. I knew her name was Lorraine because I read it on her nametag. But, I was so surprised by what happened that I didn’t ask for her full name or phone number. I can’t remember if I told her where we were staying, but I don’t think I did. Later I found a magazine in the trunk of her car and read her full name on the address label. We rented a car the day after Christmas and returned Lorraine’s car to her. Again, she refused my offer to pay her. "It’s Christmas," she said, again embarrassed to talk about it, acting as if it were something anybody would do. But this is not something just anybody would do. I wonder, was this a random act of kindness? I’ve been thinking about this incident for nearly two years, and I’ve concluded it was no random act. When I was pushing my car to the corner of the parking lot out of the way of traffic, a man came from nowhere and began pushing beside me. He had his young son with him. He was a trucker, he said, and had just arrived home for Christmas. He gave me the name of a towing service and told me to see Lorraine inside, that she would take care of me. That’s what he said: "She’ll take care of you." Then he was gone. I have a lot of questions about that Christmas Eve. Where did that man come from, and where did he go so quickly? How did he know Lorraine would take care of me? The most haunting question keeps popping into my mind. If the situation were reversed, and I were the assistant manager of a convenience store, would I lend my car to a stranger, no questions asked, unconditionally? I’m ashamed of my answer. Who were these people? Our car could have broken down at any point along the 700-mile trip from Tennessee to Virginia. But it broke down at Rennies 612 CITGO Station at the intersection of I-81 and U.S. 11 in Lexington, Virginia, where Lorraine happened to be the assistant manager, and where a mysterious man in the parking lot knew that Lorraine would take care of me. They were Christmas Angels, if you ask me. HLG |
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| Harvey
L. Gardner is an author, syndicated columnist, and speaker. Tantalizing Trivialities is a mixture
of fun, frivolity, nostalgia, inspiration, humor, love, marriage, tall tales, work, and other
absurdities. He lives in White House, Tennessee. Your comments, suggestions, and inquiries are
welcome. Email: Harvey@HarveyGardner.com © 2004, Harvey L. Gardner |
