...hold my beer

Last December, on a bitter cold early evening on the highway near Sylacauga, a tubular steel patio chair freed itself from an overburdened pickup in front of me and wedged itself under my Honda. I went from hurry-and-get-home mph to full stop at an amazing rate, after which time my car operated only (slowly) in reverse. I backed onto a side road, and began trying (futilely) to pull big pieces of jammed-in chair and torn steel undercarriage away from my car in the hope I might make it home...or, anywhere. A young couple stopped, and the husband ended up having me drive (in reverse, natch) to the house where they were headed so that he and his friend could try to help. We got there, and it was a Christmas party I was interrupting. Guys rolled up their sleeves, tools were retrieved from backs of trucks and under seats, and these guys crawled around and under my car...in the dark...in the cold...and I held the beer they'd been carrying into the party. They came to my rescue that night.

This afternoon, at the urging of facility staff in Gadsden who were certain that a blizzard was on its way ("Don't be silly," I said, "everything will be fine..."), I narrowed my work schedule and saved some paperwork for home. It couldn't hurt to hit the road earlier than my normal dark-thirty, I suppose. I had been enjoying the beautiful views of several inches of pristine, heavy snow blanketing the campus I was working all day long, but I'd been watching the asphalt too, and it wasn't icy.

So imagine my surprise when, on driving south, I run into more heavy snowfall, and several inches accumulated and slippery on the highway. Cars and SUVs covered in deep wet snow huddled like turtles where they had slid off into the medians and ditches. I topped a hill just past Sylacauga (I know, right?), and saw brake lights stretched out ahead, disappearing into the distance. Now, I'm a bit of a survivalist, and I knew what to do. Right there at the crossroads stood a lone filling station, and it was attracting a crowd. Being a survivalist, my gas tank had been filled up before I left Gadsden; no, I had stopped to use the restroom. If I'm gonna be stuck in traffic, the last thing I need is to need a restroom break! On the way back out into the blizzard (yeah, you heard me call it a blizzard--I was wrong), a voice from the checkout line said, "Jackknifed tractor-trailer. Whole road's blocked. You better wait in here." As I turned around, the older man said, "If you wait here for a few minutes, I'm gonna go open up the church so people can come stay warm." A young couple were in front of him, waiting to buy Bud Light and a bottle of moscato. The young man said he was headed around through Goodwater, and would eventually intersect with the highway south of the wreck site. I could follow them. When I expressed hesitation about driving my small sedan on hilly back roads, he said I'd be ok if I just stayed in his tracks. And he'd watch for me.

And I did. And he did. And I was.

Sometimes the people we need appear when we need them. It may be luck. But I have a feeling it is more an inclination of the heart.

Helpers. May we look for them. May we thank them. May we be them. 

Hold my beer.