Saturday, though, I encountered the first person in Pittsburgh who was genuinely unpleasant in a way that was surprising to me. Friday night David and I had flown back in late in the evening, luckily missing out on any more plane maintenance issues or gate-and-concourse switching in Atlanta that we got to experience on the way down...
"So," I said. "They switched gates on us as we should have been boarding. Then we got down to that gate and they were like 'jk!' and switched us to an entirely different concourse. Then we finally boarded (an hour late), got out on the runway, and were ready to take off and the pilot's all 'hm. We're seeing an indicator light here...' and we had to wait another 10 minutes and then the captain's all like 'well, I think we might just have an indicator light malfunctioning, because another plane went by and said they didn't see any smoke or blown tires...' and we're all O_o and then they said they could fix it out on the runway and of course then they were all 'lol nope! , so after another half hour they took us back to the gate and then they had to get a mechanic out to look at the indicated brake and he had to go find a part and then install it and then fill out paperwork and then we had to find a new groundcrew and finally we got to head out again and actually take off."
"Sounds like they gave you a trip tease," observed my sister.
So anyhow, Saturday late morning David decided to go ahead and drive up to our friends' to hang out while I chilled and waited for Garrett's plane to get in that evening. As my brother was leaving, it occurred to me that we should probably check to be sure my car would start. My car is an '02 Saturn, and the dashboard clock never turns off. Consequently, if the car sits for too long without being driven, the battery says "pfftt," and gets sulky, drinks some wine, and spits out the rest of its power juice into the ether. Said car hadn't been driven since Tuesday night, and my niggling instincts usually turn out to be correct, but my inertia and laziness were too great, so I let my brother leave without mentioning the car.
Common conversational fare for us in the home of a physicist.
A few hours later I toddled down to head to the grocery store for some Easter breakfast supplies, and sure enough, my car wouldn't start.
Let me assure you now, I did finally have a working car--a sweet, blue-eyed student with a manly build and very small proportions tried to help me jump my car, but was mechanically incapable, and I must've had the connections slightly off, because it didn't work. He stuck with it for almost 20 minutes, though; I called multiple people and got advice from one and ultimate help from two that just dropped whatever they were doing and drove over to rescue me--but the first person I encountered was a middle-aged woman in jeans and a sweater that stuck to all the wrong places who was walking stiffly on strappy heels through our parkinglot to chuck a tiny grocery bag in the trashbin.
"Excuse me!" I said. "I'm sorry, but could you possibly give me a jump?"
"What?" she said, looking at me through half-shut eyes that probably found the world too wearisome to bother seeing at full-view.
"My car battery died," I said. "Could you possibly give me a jump?"
She regarded me for a moment, and let out a sigh with her words. "Uhm. No. I don't know how to do that."
"Oh, that's no problem!" I said. "I do, and I have cables."
A part of her face twitched with displeasure. "I... well, I don't really want to use my car."
"You don't rea..." I began repeating what she'd said, wondering if it would make more sense that way.
"Uh," I said. "Okay?"
There was a pause.
"I don't actually live here," she offered, to explain why she was reasonable in not helping me jump my car. "I'm just picking up mail for someone."
"Oh," I said, since I couldn't honestly think of anything more to say to her.
"I would be willing to call AAA for you," she said.
"Uhm, no thanks," I said. "I'll just see if I can get hold of Joe." (our building manager, and a fun character)
"I'm just parked all the way over there on that street," she said, gesticulating languidly to the street that is literally a 30 second walk from our parkinglot. "I don't really want to bring my car all the way over here," she said.
"Okay. I'll just try to find Joe or somebody, then," I said, and watched her walk off without a word to me.
I'm still flummoxed.
I wondered briefly (since I try to give everyone the benefit of a doubt) if she'd thought I was dangerous and would knock her skull in and stuff her in my trunk for kicks and giggles, but quickly dismissed that idea because I am not a dangerous-looking person, it was 4:30 on a bright afternoon, my car was parked in an open lot, 15 feet from a road that gets a fair amount of car and foot traffic, and her exhibited discomfort was entirely that of someone who is being asked to do something distasteful and not someone who is afraid.
I wondered briefly (since I try to give everyone the benefit of a doubt) if she'd thought I was dangerous and would knock her skull in and stuff her in my trunk for kicks and giggles, but quickly dismissed that idea because I am not a dangerous-looking person, it was 4:30 on a bright afternoon, my car was parked in an open lot, 15 feet from a road that gets a fair amount of car and foot traffic, and her exhibited discomfort was entirely that of someone who is being asked to do something distasteful and not someone who is afraid.
"So basically," said Brittney, when I related this story to her later that night, "she was just a bitch."
"I guess so," I admitted.
But then I called Aarika who said only "what can we do?", rounded up her husband, and brought me help and some shortbread within 30 minutes.
Theoretically I believe everybody is naturally screwed up, but I guess I put a lot of trust in common grace to people (the idea that people, whether or not they're saved, still don't generally act as terribly as they're capable of). Usually that doesn't fail me. But sometimes you encounter people who just didn't end up with much.
Oh, well.
Here is a cute bully puppy. Garrett and I will have one as soon as we possibly can.
In other news, in Greenville, SC I had the absolute best TSA and airport security experience ever. A lot of that is probably due to the fact it's THE SOUTH and your average person there is three times politer than your average western Pennsylvanian, but the TSA agents and this one helpful old man who printed out our tickets while we were still hugging family goodbye still shocked me with their pleasantness. Guess I've by and large gotten used to yankees.
