When we landed in Miami on our way home last week, we had just about half an hour to make our next flight. We were both a bit nervous about making that connection, especially when I checked and found that we were arriving at D-9 and needed to depart from D-33. From past experience in Miami we knew that between 9 and 33 is a long, congested shopping mall and food court area. We crossed our fingers and prepared for a long, quick journey.
Being proactive, we decided to try to expedite our exit from the plane when we landed in Miami. We both were only carrying backpacks that fit under the seat in front of us, and we had them gathered and ready. When the seat belt sign blinked off, we got up quickly and scooted past our seat mate (Karl had already talked with him). I went first. I calmly explained to the people in the next two rows that we had a short connection and asked their permission to jump in front of them. Everyone was kind and didn’t hesitate to help, one man wished us luck. At the third row, a man in a blue shirt was standing in the aisle. I repeated my request. In response, he faced away from me (toward the front of the plane), put his left arm up on the left bulkhead and pointedly moved his roll-aboard suitcase by his right foot, effectively blocking any chance of us slipping by him. Other than that, he didn’t acknowledge me. When it came time for his row to exit, he motioned and waited for everyone to get in front of him before he moved, and Karl and I were able to then fall in behind him.
Alrighty then. After we were on the jet-way, I ended up right beside that blue-shirted man for a few paces. I glanced over at him and smiled. I told him I hoped he had a good evening. A bit surprised perhaps, he thanked me. I meant it.
The incident perplexes me. I keep thinking about him. I wasn’t ever angry, though I admit his display of unnecessary meanness shocked me. Allowing us to get ahead of him would have cost him nothing, not in significant time, or in any material or emotional way I can discern.
But. It seems to me that his unwillingness to do a tiny kindness may have cost him a great deal. Here’s what I mean: when I avail myself an opportunity to do a good thing, I benefit. Hold a door for someone, smile at a stranger, let the guy with a dozen eggs and a can of Ajax check out ahead of me and the two weeks’ worth of groceries heaped into my basket. I hope that my act is unselfish, but at the same time, it’s fun to spread a bit of goodness. I smile to myself. My heart feels lighter. Knowing I helped someone’s day lifts me up, encourages me. Deliberately choosing the opposite – to leave a situation a bit darker than it was, to be an instrument of angst, to spread disunity or even indifference – those choices have internal consequences as well. I don’t know anything about this man, his life or his story, but I feel sorry for him. He had an opportunity to make a little difference in someone’s life and he chose not to. That feels bleak and dour, and I hope, for his sake, that it isn’t a choice he often makes.
PS: we made our connecting flight with about five minutes to spare!
