The Dirt Field

The condominium complex where I live is very strict about parking, and each resident must have a valid permit displayed in their car to park overnight. When we first moved in, I got the parking permits for Bobby and me, but because I did not have his registration on hand, Bobby only got a temporary permit that expired on March 21st. Also known as last Friday.

On Saturday morning, Bobby went out to his car to get a soda (because the man keeps his sodas in the car) only to discover that his car was missing. A call to the resident towing company determined that they were in possession of one Toyota Scion, and that they would remain so until we paid $140 to reclaim the car. All of our pleas for consideration and mercy fell on deaf ears; they towed the car five hours after the permit expired and that was that. Apparently some people are perfect and they make a living towing cars.

We went to the lot where the car had been taken with $200 in cash and were immediately told by the greasy young man working alone in the trailer that he didn’t have any change (despite the “cash only” operation they claim to be running) and that we had go to get it ourselves. That was last straw and Bobby may have said more than a few unkind things to both the worker and the manager that the worker got on the phone. I wouldn’t know; I went deaf after the seventeenth “fuck” I heard.

In the midst of all of this, a distinguished older gentleman walked into the trailer and started sympathizing with Bobby about how awful the towing company is and how unfair they had been to tow so quickly. He asked Bobby if he was in the Army, to which Bobby replied that he was a former Marine and that it really burned him that the towing company didn’t even cut him some slack, despite all of the Marine Corps stickers on his car. The man agreed wholeheartedly and mentioned that he owned land next door and had considered leasing it to the company, but decided against it.

He then pulled a wad of twenties out of his pocket and when I saw them, I quickly asked if we could buy five twenties with one of our $100 bills. He handed a mess of folded bills (what I thought was five twenties) to the towing company worker and said, “Count them.” The worker did and replied, “One forty.” Then the man turned to Bobby and said, “There you go. Thanks for your service.” Without another word, he walked out of the trailer, got into his car, and drove away.

I was moved to the point of tears when this happened, and Bobby and I only managed to thank him quickly before he walked out. The whole thing left us speechless and floored with the incredible act of kindness. Bobby the Agnostic then tried to convince me that the man was God (“He was an older man, he was very distinguished, he showed up out of the blue and disappeared just as quickly, and he was driving a white car!”), and while we both knew that wasn’t exactly the case, you have to wonder a bit. The guy never actually did anything while he was there other than pay our bill, so why was he there?

I’m not going to start gushing about the goodness of humanity and how wonderful life can be, but I did want to share this story because this man deserves acknowledgment. I may never know who he was, but I will always remember him and be grateful for his kindness and generosity. I only hope that I get the chance someday to return the favor to another stranger in need.