Friday open thread: the kindness of strangers
It's coming up to the end of another working week (for me at least), and I'm back with another Friday open thread. A reminder for those new to this: each week, I ask a single question, and the comments section serves as a space for you to answer it, chat among yourselves, and in general have a conversation in a fairly low-pressure environment.
Today's question is: what is one moment when a stranger was kind or helpful to you?
I could list several such moments, but the one that has always stuck with me is the day I first emigrated to the UK from Australia.
I moved here more than a decade ago for postgraduate study at the University of Cambridge. Flying from Australia to Europe is never fun, but this flight was particularly hellish: I checked in too late to get my preferred aisle seat, and only middle seats were available. I spent the trip wide awake, trapped in place by the person in the aisle who fell asleep for the entire flight on both legs of the journey. I can never sleep on planes, and I hate the food, so for this flight I was exhausted, hungry, and unable to leave my seat to walk around or go to the toilet. I was also wearing my heaviest clothes to avoid having them take up space in my luggage, which meant I was overheated and uncomfortable.
Once I got to Heathrow and out of the hell that is passport control in a major international airport, I had to get myself, my 28kg suitcase, my 15kg suitcase, my laptop bag, my backpack, my overfilled shoulder bag, and my overfilled handbag out of the airport, into another terminal, onto a coach, into Cambridge, and then to my Cambridge college. By the time I arrived in Cambridge I hadn't slept for close to 48 hours and was feeling extremely emotional about being on the other side of the world from my close-knit family. I was pretty much a wreck.
When I got to my college, the porter was looking everyone up on a list and telling them where to go. If you live in college-owned accommodation in Cambridge as an undergrad, you tend to live in a dorm room in the college buildings themselves (with some exceptions). Postgraduates (again with some exceptions) live in share houses (typically converted Victorian terraces or standalone houses) that are scattered all over the city. When the porter got to me, he explained that I wouldn't be able to walk to my sharehouse with all that luggage, and would need to get a taxi.
The prospect of that final taxi drive was the final straw, and I basically started crying in the porters' lodge. Cambridge porters, thankfully, have seen everything, and this guy was prepared: he sat me down, made me a cup of tea, and gave me a packet of biscuits, then checked that I had enough cash to pay for the taxi ride, and called the taxi for me.
It wasn't a big thing, but it was the best possible welcome to my new city, my new university, and my college, and it did a lot to colour my impressions. I wouldn't say I felt at that moment that Cambridge was home, but I certainly felt it far more quickly than I would have without that first act of kindness and understanding. I still feel warm and fuzzy remembering it.
Do you have any similar stories?
Today's question is: what is one moment when a stranger was kind or helpful to you?
I could list several such moments, but the one that has always stuck with me is the day I first emigrated to the UK from Australia.
I moved here more than a decade ago for postgraduate study at the University of Cambridge. Flying from Australia to Europe is never fun, but this flight was particularly hellish: I checked in too late to get my preferred aisle seat, and only middle seats were available. I spent the trip wide awake, trapped in place by the person in the aisle who fell asleep for the entire flight on both legs of the journey. I can never sleep on planes, and I hate the food, so for this flight I was exhausted, hungry, and unable to leave my seat to walk around or go to the toilet. I was also wearing my heaviest clothes to avoid having them take up space in my luggage, which meant I was overheated and uncomfortable.
Once I got to Heathrow and out of the hell that is passport control in a major international airport, I had to get myself, my 28kg suitcase, my 15kg suitcase, my laptop bag, my backpack, my overfilled shoulder bag, and my overfilled handbag out of the airport, into another terminal, onto a coach, into Cambridge, and then to my Cambridge college. By the time I arrived in Cambridge I hadn't slept for close to 48 hours and was feeling extremely emotional about being on the other side of the world from my close-knit family. I was pretty much a wreck.
When I got to my college, the porter was looking everyone up on a list and telling them where to go. If you live in college-owned accommodation in Cambridge as an undergrad, you tend to live in a dorm room in the college buildings themselves (with some exceptions). Postgraduates (again with some exceptions) live in share houses (typically converted Victorian terraces or standalone houses) that are scattered all over the city. When the porter got to me, he explained that I wouldn't be able to walk to my sharehouse with all that luggage, and would need to get a taxi.
The prospect of that final taxi drive was the final straw, and I basically started crying in the porters' lodge. Cambridge porters, thankfully, have seen everything, and this guy was prepared: he sat me down, made me a cup of tea, and gave me a packet of biscuits, then checked that I had enough cash to pay for the taxi ride, and called the taxi for me.
It wasn't a big thing, but it was the best possible welcome to my new city, my new university, and my college, and it did a lot to colour my impressions. I wouldn't say I felt at that moment that Cambridge was home, but I certainly felt it far more quickly than I would have without that first act of kindness and understanding. I still feel warm and fuzzy remembering it.
Do you have any similar stories?