S.O.S.

Sometimes the streets of Philadelphia can be harsh.

Nestled between Queens Village and Society Hill, seemingly worlds away from the crime-ridden streets that frame the city, I always feel pretty safe. But the busy business district through which I walk to the train station each morning has its own brand of danger.

I'm not referring to the cab driver who was shot on the corner of 11th and Market on Christmas eve, or the fight resulting in gunfire last week in Old City. No, I recently discovered that some of the most precarious situations arise from the mere presence of a sidewalk curb.

The other morning, as I hurried down 9th street, I jolted to a stop at the sight of an elderly blind woman standing still on the corner of a small cross street. She was feeling the terrain ahead with a cane, but something was obviously keeping her from forging ahead. For just a moment I thought I should leave her alone and not doubt her ability. Maybe she was waiting for someone. I guess it was my gut that said, "it never hurts to ask."

"Ma'am, can I help you cross the street?"

She did not hesitate and she was not shy. "You sure can!"

We locked arms naturally, like we were good friends. We inched down the sloped sidewalk, onto the street. An SUV halted abruptly at the stop sign in front of us, music blaring. "Is that your radio?" She asked me.

When we were almost safely back to sidewalk, I noticed her gait become slower, more timid. Then it hit me. There was no slope on this side. The curb was only a few inches high, but I warned her anyway, "we've got a little step coming up."
Her cane reached it first, then the toe of her shoe. She was slightly jostled, even in my grip.

"That's the one that tripped me last time," she confessed as she stepped up to meet me. We unlatched our arms, and said a quick goodbye.

I made a point to go down 9th again today, hoping to see her. Just to say hi, or maybe see if she needed a hand. I haven't seen her since. But every now and then she comes to mind and I imagine what it would be like to brave the city without sight. I remember how small and overwhelmed I felt when I just arrived. Every sound I heard from my bed at night, made my mind reel, imagining what it might be. I was always weary of people walking too closely behind me.

Un-slanted sidewalk curbs never crossed my mind. I guess you never know what someone might fear, until you've walked in their shoes. Or at least helped them walk in their own.

Fear and loathing in the Gap fitting room

Yesterday while waiting for Jason to try on clothes at the Gap, I overheard two employees' conversation:

"I'm feelin' it today," one said to the other, "today's the day I'm gonna punch someone in the face."
"I hear ya," the other replied, "I had to walk off the floor at one point."

It went on like that for a minute or two. I couldn't help but wonder if they thought I was cruisin' for a bruisin'. What poor taste to speak so nastily about customers who were in clear view and earshot, I thought. They should save that kind of talk for the break room. At least then people may mistake their miserable mugs for the result of a non-work-related problem.

Then I realized that's easy for me to say, now that I have a full-time writing job I thoroughly enjoy. There was a point during my brief stint as a Starbucks Barista when everything, from the sound of the coffee timer dinging to a customer's request for the bathroom key, made me want to spew expletives. At the time, I told myself I hid my loathing sufficiently. In reality, the look on my face (even behind a forced smile) probably said it all. Perhaps I might as well have been one of those Gap girls.

I've decided that enjoying my job is something I should never take for granted. And I'll always tip my Barista.