Fighting against the flow

Fighting against the flow

I had just finished my lunch, stood up to stretch and throw out my garbage, half a cup of Coca Cola Classic (Triple C) still in hand.  It was a quiet afternoon and the food court was mostly empty, but years in retail and customer service train you that that means nothing.  At work I am out going, I can be who I need to be to connect with who I need to connect with.  That's the nature of the job.  But off the clock I am a people watcher.  I sit silently, listening to everything, watching everyone.  I study the human race.

I sip my Triple C as I slowly make my way to the escalator, the only way down aside from an old, rickety elevator.  Standing at the top was a mother and her young son.  I have seen this a thousand times.  Children hesitate to get on the escalator as though it were a contraption designed specifically to appropriate their doom.  Just behind the mother and son, an elderly couple, fresh off their mid day dinner after what was no doubt a rousing morning of mall walking.

Children and the elderly have very much in common, that whole ‘life comes full circle’ thing.  They lack the ability to censor themselves when they talk, to drive cars, to walk.

Add ‘navigate an escalator’ to that list.

The old woman was impatient, another trait she shared with a child, and before the mother and son were done she was already making her attempt at the escalator.  She placed her hand on the moving rail and tried to get her foot on the first step.  She was obviously under prepared for the momentum of the machine.  It jerked her forward, feet first, and she slid under the mother and son, knocking them over like bowling pins.

I took a sip of my Triple C.

The old woman was on her back at the top of the escalator, the mother was on top of her, and her son was now heading down the escalator on all fours.  He was fighting it, though.  Tears in his eyes and screaming, he fought against the flow of the stairs moving under him.  Like watching salmon on The Discovery Channel.  He held his ground for a few seconds then succumbed to the steely current and rode it backwards crying the whole way.  A Samaritan reached a hand towards him futilely in the last second before he was washed away down stream.

His mother was screaming too at this point.

“Get up! What is your problem?!” she shouted at the old woman.

The old woman floundered around underneath her until the mother was able to roll off, spring to her feet and race down the escalator towards her son.

After another sip of my soda I leaned down to help the old woman up.  I was rooting for the underdog.

After getting her to her feet, the mother, who now had her son in her arms safely at the bottom of the escalator, shouted back up at the old woman.

“What is your problem?!  Why would you do that?!  Why wouldn’t you take the elevator?!”

“What did she say?” the old woman asked.

Another samaritan who had helped spelled it out for her.  “She said you should have taken the elevator, ma’am.”

“Elevator?”

“Yes,” I jumped in.  “There are 2 elevators right over there.”

“Oh.” And with that she began her slow, painful shuffle to the elevator.

Taking another sip of my drink, I turned and boarded the escalator myself.  And then I saw it.  At the bottom of the escalator was the old man, the old woman’s husband.  Come to think of it I hadn’t seen him when I helped her up.  In the midst of all the chaos his wife caused he managed to stay focused and accomplish his goal.

As a newlywed all I can say is, Thank you, sir.  Lesson learned.