Ugh

[cjsmith]

I'm in one of my "Why bother?" moods.

Over the past few days I've had several interactions with people wherein I've tried my best to be polite and understanding and I've gotten back condescension, insults, sneers, and veiled accusations that I was lying. No specific incident was way out of the ordinary. It's simply that there's been a lot of it lately.

I need a more pleasant counter-viewpoint saying "not all people are jerks, really." An antidote of sorts. But I'm not sure where to look for it.

That last sentence is pretty darn sad.

Comments

[sunnydale47.livejournal.com]

Not all people are jerks. Really!

I learned that when I was 13. I grew up in the concrete canyons of New York City. I lived in a good neighborhood but still ... it was New York City. I was taught from an early age to keep the flap of my purse turned inward and to keep my hand on it in crowds, to always carefully count my change so I didn't get cheated, and things like that. When I was 13, I was devastated to discover one afternoon that I'd lost my wallet. I hadn't been carrying a pocketbook, just the wallet in my jacket pocket. There'd been $3 in it, which sounds like nothing now, but was actually a considerable sum for a young teenager in those pre-inflation days. Even worse, the wallet was chock-full of pictures. (Do teenage girls still stuff their wallets with pictures of everyone they know?) Not to mention whatever ID I had (junior high school ID card, I guess, or something like that).

I realized I'd dropped it on the corner when I had taken something else out of my pocket. I raced back to look, but couldn't find it. My mother gently told me that if it wasn't there now, I'd probably never see it again. I was devastated.

About 9:00 that evening, the phone rang. It was a woman who lived two blocks away. She'd found my wallet, she said -- she'd seen it when she was walking past my corner on her way home from the subway station. She said she hadn't looked through it and didn't know if anyone had taken the money out, but she thought I'd want my pictures back. Would I like to come and pick it up?

It was too late for me to go out alone, but my brother (who was 18 and a boy, and therefore less restricted on both counts) offered to walk over and get it. I told my mother what the woman had said, and she explained the woman had probably taken the money out herself, but it was really nice of her to return the rest, and I was thrilled that I was going to at least get my precious pictures back.

When my brother got back with my wallet, I eagerly looked through it. My pictures were all safe! I looked in the paper money section, expecting it to be empty ... and found -- yep -- my $3. In the city that is so cold and uncaring, where I'd been taught to trust no one I didn't know, where my own mother had tried to cushion my disappointment by warning me that the cash was probably gone, this stranger had bothered to pick up my wallet, take it home, and call me -- and hadn't even taken the money.

That story must sound weird to you, and to anyone who lives (or was brought up) on the west coast, or in the midwest, or even in a smaller town on the east coast. But getting the wallet back wasn't at all a given in the city I'd vowed -- at the tender age of 6! -- to move away from someday. And getting the money back was surprising enough that although I don't remember a whole lot from my childhood, I remember that incident with complete clarity.

I'd been taught caution and even distrust, especially of strangers, especially regarding money -- and with good reason. But although I still watch my purse in crowds and count my change, my basic outlook has been different ever since that time. I learned that not all people are jerks. Even in New York City. Really.

Hope my little story helps! :-)

[cjsmith.livejournal.com]

That's a great story! Yes, I believe there are kindhearted people, "even" in New York City. :-)

My mom got her wallet stolen on a bus in Rome once. The cash didn't return, but every single credit card and piece of identification did. It was forwarded by the embassy or the consulate or some official thingy like that, and it got to our hotel before we did, if I remember right. Undoubtedly somebody got it to the official types awfully fast. For all I know, the thief handed it over himself, knowing all he wanted was the cash. If so, I gotta hand it to him for being thoughtful, for a pickpocket. That trip could have been a lot worse for my mom.

I love wallet-return stories. I've had things stolen in my life and never seen a stitch of it again, but it's nice to know there are decent folk out there who'll go the extra mile to help.