We stopped at a Wegmans to eat at their Market Cafe on the way down to New York. After lunch I had to hit the washroom, Manuela had to get something from the store and Joe wanted to pick up some beer. So, Joe got me into the washroom and lifted the footrests so I could get up on my own. As someone was in the disabled stall I sat and waited. It seemed to take forever but eventually the guy came out, looked abashed at using that stall instead of the other stalls and I went in to do my business.
As I was pulling my pants back up, (what I don't tell you all!) my wallet and my glasses fell out of my pants pocket. I managed to kick them out of the stall so that they were by the wheelchair. By now there was no one in the washroom to ask to help me. So I sat. And prayed.
I prayed that the next person that came through the door would be a nice person.
I prayed that the next person that came through the door would not be an asshole.
I prayed and I prayed and I prayed real hard.
Then I decided to get specific.
I prayed that the next guy that came through the door was a dad who loved taking care of his kids.
I prayed that the next guy that came through the door was someone who helped naturally without muss or fuss or, better, complaint.
The door opens.
A young man, maybe 32 or 33, comes through. One of those kind of guys who shaves in the morning and has the blue hue by 2. A manly man. I worked up my courage and said, 'Excuse me ...' He glanced over and saw me, noticed my wallet and glasses and before I could ask leaned down and scooped up my stuff and handed it to me. I thanked him and he brushed it off as something anyone would do.
I left the washroom and waited for Joe to come back. The fellow came out of the bathroom and was greeted by his wife and son. He picked his boy up and carried him laughing away. His wife looked at him with real love.
And I know why.