In college, I studied abroad in Strasbourg, France during the second semester of my sophomore year. I lived in an apartment with 5 other girls from my undergrad. The experiences we had together (and not-so-much-together) are worth many a blog post (perhaps even a book) themselves.
Every story, no matter how short, should have at least one superhero. One masked man or woman of superhuman repute who swoops down from lofty heights to save a damsel or a dude in a moment of great distress.
Ahmed was my Strasbourgois superhero. I was walking home to my apartment on rue de Bouxwiller (affectionately known to us as Boux) from the hardware store at Les Halles, the Strasbourg mall.
Yes, the mall had a hardware store. The once-German then-French then-German-again-then-French-finally town of Strasbourg was quite efficient when it came to optimal store placement.
Because you never know when you might need some Draino with your fresh baguette and new sleek black-silhouetted ensemble.
In fact, I was leaving the store with a bottle of industrial strength de-clogger when I was cornered by two men. These men looked to be in their early twenties. One was wearing a backwards cap with the Italian soccer team logo and the other some sort of t-shirt and jeans. Both had greasy faces and looked as though they hadn't showered in a few days.
The guy in the cap took a step toward me and touched me on the arm. "Do you like hash-hish?" he asked.
"No, I don't smoke," I said. I started to walk in the opposite direction and greasy t-shirt guy grabbed my arm, "Hey, pretty girl, come with us. We'll show you a good time."
"I gotta...go..." I stammered. Both guys were in front of me now, blocking my exit, laughing. My muscles started to tense. The smell of fear welled in my nostrils. My breath quickened. How was I going to get out of here?
Before I could make another move, a voice from behind me boomed, "Stop! If you hurt her, I will kill you!"
I turned to face my rescuer. He was dark-skinned and muscular, though of average height, dressed in a t-shirt in jeans, and looking pretty greasy himself.
"Great... I'm being passed off from one weirdo to another, I thought."
He spoke again, "Hi, my name is Ahmed. Are you an American?"
Crap.... my strong accent had given me away again. "Yes," I said, barely audible.
Ahmed beamed. "I am from Cambodia. I love America. It is the great melting pot. I have always wanted to go there. Please, my friend, if you ever need anything, just call for Ahmed. I will help you."
"Ok," I said, and with my assailants nowhere in sight, he left.
I crossed the street, Draino in hand, and walked with purpose toward my house. I was passing the front entrance of the mall, when who should reappear, but Italian Cap and Greasy Shirt.
I did not hesitate.
"Ahhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmeeeeedddddddddd!?!?" I screamed from my core. I was sure he was long gone, but was hoping against hope that I was wrong.
I froze and looked down. The plastic shopping bag slipped from my fingers onto the ground. I felt Greasy Shirt's presence in front of me, and Italian Cap's hands around my waist. I closed my eyes and positioned my elbow to aim between his legs.
"STOP! I told you to leave her alone!" a familiar voice blared.
I felt the arms at my back release me and heard feet beating fast on the pavement. I was still in a daze.
Ahmed handed me my bag and placed his hand gently on my back. "Are you ok? Did they hurt you?"
I shook my head no. I was unable to speak. He walked with me for a few minutes as I regained my composure, and as we approached Boux, he told me goodbye with a smile.
I walked into my apartment, unsure how I was going to explain what had just happened to the other girls. Did I even want to tell them?
I went about my businessin our bathroom, pouring Draino into the shower drain. I set the bottle on the bathroom counter, walked into my bedroom, and shut the door.
"Drained," I muttered to myself-- and I wasn't talking about the shower.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Puttin' on the Ritz...
On Saturday, I met a friend at the Pentagon City Mall and I decided to take a cab home because it was raining and there was trackwork on the Metro. I walked over to the Ritz-Carlton, which was just next door, and the doorman handed me a free bottle of water and ushered me into a cab. As I was getting into the cab, my mind flashed back the last time I was at that same hotel.
I was living in Springfield, VA at the time and had taken the bus from the Metro to the Pentagon City Mall for a hair appointment at the Regis salon. I don't usually go to such a fancy place, but I was celebrating. I had just passed the Virginia Bar and wanted to treat myself to a new, professional, lawyerly 'do.
The bus had just pulled up at the mall and as I was rolling down the bus ramp in my power chair, my left foot rest fell off. It had been damaged from catching one too many times in the automated gate at the apartment community where I lived (quite an inevitable fate--that gate HATED ME, I tell you).
I couldn't do anything about my predicament in the middle of the crosswalk, so I just picked up the foot rest and carried it into the mall with me. I thought, "I'm not going to let this slow me down."
My hair appointment was at 9:45, but most of the major stores in the mall didn't open until 10. I was there by 9, early enough to grab some breakfast and window shop on the way into the salon. I was going to make a morning of it.
I rolled over to the elevator to ride down to the food court. As I neared the sign on the door, I felt the color drain from my face... the elevator was out of service until the following day. Not only did this mean I couldn't get to my breakfast on the lower level, it also meant that I couldn't get to my hair appointment on the 3rd floor.
There I sat, stunned, clutching a broken footrest in one hand and a bruised spirit in the other. I was silently debating the merits of returning home or hanging out at ground level for a while when a hand lightly touched my shoulder.
"Do you need some help?" I heard a man say. I looked up at a handsome gentleman in his late thirties/early forties with a smile on his face. He had copper hair, brown eyes, and evidence of past laughter written around his mouth and eyes.
"My name's Ken, " he said "Are you a lawyer?" I looked down, grateful that I'd worn my UK Legal Clinic t-shirt.
"Yes." I answered. I then rehashed the whole ordeal: passed bar, hungry tummy, missing footrest, broken elevator, fleeting hair appointment.
"We'll get you there," Ken said. I was a little skeptical about following a strange man I'd just met, but in a public place, I felt relatively safe. He proceeded to lead me to every major department store--all of which we found closed, elevators inaccessible.
He just smiled and said, "Come with me." As we exited the mall and walked into the Ritz together, I began to worry. "Where is this man taking me?" He led me into a restaurant with a huge breakfast bar and said, "Have anything you want--on me." Made to order omlets, fruit, bagels, the selection was amazing. I tried to protest, but he said, "I insist," so I helped myself to a few pieces of fruit and a bagel.
While I was eating, he came by the table with another gentleman. "Jessica, this is James. He is an engineer with the hotel and I think he can fix your footrest."
I ate while James worked, and by the time I had finished my breakfast, the bent footrest was newly attached to my chair.
"Hurry!" Ken said. "While you were eating I rescheduled your appointment for 10:15, and we're going to take the Macy's elevator to get you upstairs to the Regis in time. Ken personally escorted me all the way to the salon. I thanked him profusely and asked for his contact information, but he refused saying, "It's ok. This is the least you deserve. I wish I could give you so much more."
As I sat in the chair, Ken looked at the stylist and said, "Make her as beautiful as possible.... though honestly, I don't know how you can make her any more beautiful than she already is."
And with that, he left.
I sat through most of the appointment in shock over what had just transpired, and when I went to the register to pay, the receptionist said, "Your friend took care of the bill."
WHAT???
I was amazed. I couldn't speak. Tears were welling in my eyes. No man (other than a family member) had ever done something so nice for me, and I didn't even know his name. I didn't deserve this... I couldn't thank him.
I felt so thankful. Shocked. Cared for. Loved, even, in a way.
To this day, I think about Ken and the Regis adventure every time I'm in Pentagon City, to remind myself of a few things.
1) Random acts of kindness do exist.
2) Chivalry is not dead.
3) And if a man I barely know can care about me enough to be so kind, then a man who knows me well should want to do the same.
Most importantly though, I try to be like Ken, giving to others, no matter who or where they are, if I see they have a need I can fulfill.
To me, caring for those in need is one of the main reasons we were put on this Earth, and I am the type of person who shows love best through service, even if I'm not always in the best position to serve.
Thanks, Ken, wherever you are, for helping me, encouraging me, and allowing me to learn from your example.
I was living in Springfield, VA at the time and had taken the bus from the Metro to the Pentagon City Mall for a hair appointment at the Regis salon. I don't usually go to such a fancy place, but I was celebrating. I had just passed the Virginia Bar and wanted to treat myself to a new, professional, lawyerly 'do.
The bus had just pulled up at the mall and as I was rolling down the bus ramp in my power chair, my left foot rest fell off. It had been damaged from catching one too many times in the automated gate at the apartment community where I lived (quite an inevitable fate--that gate HATED ME, I tell you).
I couldn't do anything about my predicament in the middle of the crosswalk, so I just picked up the foot rest and carried it into the mall with me. I thought, "I'm not going to let this slow me down."
My hair appointment was at 9:45, but most of the major stores in the mall didn't open until 10. I was there by 9, early enough to grab some breakfast and window shop on the way into the salon. I was going to make a morning of it.
I rolled over to the elevator to ride down to the food court. As I neared the sign on the door, I felt the color drain from my face... the elevator was out of service until the following day. Not only did this mean I couldn't get to my breakfast on the lower level, it also meant that I couldn't get to my hair appointment on the 3rd floor.
There I sat, stunned, clutching a broken footrest in one hand and a bruised spirit in the other. I was silently debating the merits of returning home or hanging out at ground level for a while when a hand lightly touched my shoulder.
"Do you need some help?" I heard a man say. I looked up at a handsome gentleman in his late thirties/early forties with a smile on his face. He had copper hair, brown eyes, and evidence of past laughter written around his mouth and eyes.
"My name's Ken, " he said "Are you a lawyer?" I looked down, grateful that I'd worn my UK Legal Clinic t-shirt.
"Yes." I answered. I then rehashed the whole ordeal: passed bar, hungry tummy, missing footrest, broken elevator, fleeting hair appointment.
"We'll get you there," Ken said. I was a little skeptical about following a strange man I'd just met, but in a public place, I felt relatively safe. He proceeded to lead me to every major department store--all of which we found closed, elevators inaccessible.
He just smiled and said, "Come with me." As we exited the mall and walked into the Ritz together, I began to worry. "Where is this man taking me?" He led me into a restaurant with a huge breakfast bar and said, "Have anything you want--on me." Made to order omlets, fruit, bagels, the selection was amazing. I tried to protest, but he said, "I insist," so I helped myself to a few pieces of fruit and a bagel.
While I was eating, he came by the table with another gentleman. "Jessica, this is James. He is an engineer with the hotel and I think he can fix your footrest."
I ate while James worked, and by the time I had finished my breakfast, the bent footrest was newly attached to my chair.
"Hurry!" Ken said. "While you were eating I rescheduled your appointment for 10:15, and we're going to take the Macy's elevator to get you upstairs to the Regis in time. Ken personally escorted me all the way to the salon. I thanked him profusely and asked for his contact information, but he refused saying, "It's ok. This is the least you deserve. I wish I could give you so much more."
As I sat in the chair, Ken looked at the stylist and said, "Make her as beautiful as possible.... though honestly, I don't know how you can make her any more beautiful than she already is."
And with that, he left.
I sat through most of the appointment in shock over what had just transpired, and when I went to the register to pay, the receptionist said, "Your friend took care of the bill."
WHAT???
I was amazed. I couldn't speak. Tears were welling in my eyes. No man (other than a family member) had ever done something so nice for me, and I didn't even know his name. I didn't deserve this... I couldn't thank him.
I felt so thankful. Shocked. Cared for. Loved, even, in a way.
To this day, I think about Ken and the Regis adventure every time I'm in Pentagon City, to remind myself of a few things.
1) Random acts of kindness do exist.
2) Chivalry is not dead.
3) And if a man I barely know can care about me enough to be so kind, then a man who knows me well should want to do the same.
Most importantly though, I try to be like Ken, giving to others, no matter who or where they are, if I see they have a need I can fulfill.
To me, caring for those in need is one of the main reasons we were put on this Earth, and I am the type of person who shows love best through service, even if I'm not always in the best position to serve.
Thanks, Ken, wherever you are, for helping me, encouraging me, and allowing me to learn from your example.
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