I'm back from another writing hiatus with a story that restored some of my faith in humanity. In the age of conservative politics, it is nice to get the occasional reminder that people aren't always in it for themselves and no one else. In that spirit, I share with you something that happened to me a few weeks ago.
On June 9th, my friend Derek from back home in Ontario flew out to BC to visit my girlfriend and I as well as to do some mountaineering. Being the gracious host without a car that I am, I took the bus to meet him at the airport. On transit, the trip out to YVR is a bit of a haul from my apartment (about an hour and a half on a good day) but I actually enjoy public when I'm not in a rush, provided it isn't too crowded. On this day, I was in luck. I rode the bus in peace, listening to the musical stylings of Cake on my iPod as I watched the scenery pass me by, anxious to reunite with my former climbing partner.
I arrived at the airport without incident and, after a short wait, Derek appeared. We boarded the train back to downtown, from which we would take the bus back to my apartment. The ride was filled with the usual "I haven't seen you in a while" banter that friends exchange. What's new? How've you been? What do you want to do while you're out here? All in all it was pleasant, and the long bus ride gave us a laid back environment in which to catch up. We even got to sit in the prime seats at the back of the bus, where I could put my feet up on the supports for the seats in front of us.
When we got off the bus, I was thoroughly famished and eager to get some lunch. We grabbed Derek's bags and quickly disembarked from the bus. Only after the steel behemoth drove out of view did I have the presence of mind to do a check of my pockets to make sure I had everything I left home with. Upon patting myself down and pausing for a moment to think, I had the minor heart attack that follows the realization that you've lost an expensive piece of technology. My iPod, along with 30 gigs of music and audiobooks that had seen me through long trips and idle afternoons for the past seven years, had slipped out of my pocket when I put my feet up.
I'm not a man who gives up easily however, and all hope was not lost. Luckily for me, the bus that dropped us off needed to make a loop around the top of Burnaby Mountain before it could begin its trip back downtown. We hurriedly dropped of Derek's things and I left him to visit with my girlfriend as I ran back to the stop where I would hopefully intercept the bus.
I waited anxiously, trying to remember everything I could about the vehicle we had ridden in. I recalled that it was mostly blue on the outside and was driven by an older man. The first bus that came around was white, so I immediately ruled out checking it. The next that appeared was the right colour but was driven by a young asian guy and was on a different route. I knew that sometimes the buses changed drivers and route numbers on the far side of the mountain so I decided to check just to be sure, but my hopes weren't high. After a quick explanation to the driver I went to the back of the bus to do a quick search. The place where I would have been sitting was occupied by a young man in a green shirt listening to an iPod of his own. I asked if he had found an older model iPod anywhere near where he was sitting. His confused expression betrayed that he hadn't and that I would need to keep waiting.
Mildly perturbed, I got off the bus and watched it pull away. Before it was out of sight, however, there was a slight commotion in the back. The person I had just spoken to was trying to get my attention through the window and was waving something small and white. It could only be my iPod. My momentary shock at the fact that the guy who found it wasn't trying to keep it for himself quickly turned to panic as I realized the driver had no intention of stopping and that the bus was headed off the mountain. I knew if I lost sight of it, I might as well start shopping for a new music player because my search would become a needle in a haystack the size of the Greater Vancouver Area. I took off.
I sprinted to catch up with the bus and catch the attention of the man in the green shirt. He saw me and I yelled the only thing I could think: "NEXT STOP!" There was one more stop before the road left the mountain. The stop is a less-than-popular one as it is away from the main campus buildings but if even one person was waiting there, the bus would have to pick them up. All I could do was keep running and hope to make it to that stop before the driver closed the doors.
Now, I'm a fairly fit individual. I run a few times a week and I hike avidly. But as I watched the bus get further and further away, and my lungs and legs began to burn more and more, I quickly realized that I am not the sort of person who can maintain a full-out sprint for half a kilometer. I rounded the bend in the road just in time to see the bus pull away, taking my favourite songs and audio books along with it. I stopped for a moment, heart pounding, and tried to think. Maybe the guy in the green shirt had tossed my iPod from the bus when he realized I wasn't going to make it. In my winded state, this seemed like my last hope. I turned and began walking back to where I had originally been waiting, to be sure I hadn't passed it by. Part of me knew I was out of luck, but I had to be sure.
As I walked down the side of the road, catching my breath and searching the ditch, I heard something from behind be and a long way away. A whistle. My head snapped around and my eyes strained to focus in on the green shape waving in my direction. I was filled with disbelief and a surge of adrenaline that allowed me to cover the distance to the bus stop in record time. There stood the man in green holding my iPod out for me to take. I stood, panting, sweaty, and looking like a psychopath. I muttered the only confused thought my mind was able to form. "Did you just get off the bus for me?"
I was shocked. Here was this guy who had no loyalty to me; who was minding his own business; presumably trying to get home after a long day at school; trying to beat the late afternoon rush; and he had delayed himself significantly just so I could have my iPod back. I was touched. I couldn't remember the last time a stranger had shown me any kindness beyond holding a door, if one ever had. As the fog of breathlessness began to lift, more thoughts tried to fight their way to the surface. "You," I said, pointing at him, "you are a really good person."
My inadequate and inane babbling aside, the guy was as nice and as understanding as you would expect. I thanked him profusely and tried to offer him the small amount of money I had in my wallet so he could buy himself lunch. He refused, and after a few more thank you's we went our separate ways.
In hindsight, I wish I had been thinking clearly enough to do something more. Perhaps gotten his phone number so I could buy him lunch next time he was on the mountain. Unfortunately, I'm not that quick on my feet and the man in green who saved my iPod has vanished back into the crowd of people known as strangers. I likely wouldn't even recognize him if I saw him again. The experience has restored some of my optimism about the world, though. In the weeks since, I have stopped while listening to my iPod several times and reflected that, had it not been for one person's selfless attitude, I would be sitting in silence. Those thoughts inspire me to pay it forward and try to be a better person.
In the fast-paced crowded world that we live in, full of isolating technology and indifferent passers by, it is easy not to think of others. The truth, however, is that thinking of others is one of the things that makes us uniquely human. If we hadn't cooperated and used our collective intellect to solve the problems we have, our lives wouldn't be nearly as comfortable as they currently are. I'm lucky enough to have a physical reminder of the importance of being kind. The fact that it plays music is just a bonus at this point. I can't repay the man in the green shirt for the kindness he showed me, but I can try to live my life based on the simple lesson he reminded me of: Help each other out, we're all in this together.
Here's to you, Man in Green.
Cheers,
Steve
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