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Thursday, May 6,
2004 - 9:57am
I arrive at Best Buy
to purchase a new Cuisinart auto-grind coffee unit. While looking for a
place to park, I spy an old lady pulled over in the fire zone in front of
the building. HelperMan smells trouble. I park the car and walk up
to the woman.
"Everything okay,
ma'am?"
She is very old and
frail, and leans against her car for support. I worry that if a
strong wind comes up, she will be going for a ride.
Although I do not know
the problem yet, HelperMan is ready to roll.
"Waiting for them to
open," she says. "Bought a TV that doesn't fit on my kitchen counter."
I take of a sip of
my McDonald's coffee, and suddenly HelperMan springs into action.
"I don't want you to
get a ticket," HelperMan says, "so here's what we're going to do..."
HelperMan convinces
the old lady to park her car in a nearby handicapped spot (she has a
sticker) and meets her at the car trunk.
"I'll carry your
TV," says HelperMan. "And just in case you're worried I'm going to run off
with it, here's my coffee as collateral."
"Oh, bless you," the
old woman says. "Let me get the trunk."
The old woman's
turning of the key and raising of the trunk hatch is painfully slow, like
the opening of King Tut's Tomb. Because the car is a behemoth sedan
from the late 1970s, HelperMan envisions a TV of epic proportions.
Finally the trunk
opens, and there it is: a 13-inch Sharp television set. To show his
strength, as well as his chivalry, HelperMan sweeps the box up in one arm
and offers the other to the woman. She takes it, and they head
across the crowded parking lot.
The store is now
open. HelperMan escorts the old lady to the Customer Service desk,
where he explains the woman's situation.
"The TV is too big,"
he says. "She's a nice lady, so don't rip her off."
"Thank you, young
man," the old lady says.
"It's my pleasure,"
HelperMan says.
He is glad he
doesn't know her name because he would probably forget it and then feel
guilty. HelperMan enjoys helping, but on his own terms.
Monday, May 10,
2004 - 11:11am
On the subway, HelperMan gives up his seat to a woman. She smiles and
mouths, "Thank you." HelperMan would like to be able to say he did it
because she was pregnant, or old, or disabled, but he can't. The real
reason? She was hot.
Friday, May 14,
2004 - 2:17pm
We're grocery shopping,
HelperMan and I, in our friendly neighborhood supermarket. (Actually, it's
anything but friendly; they're all a bunch of rude, ex-con scumbags. But I
digress.)
During a foray into Produce, HelperMan overhears two elderly women
complaining about the price of asparagus. Instantly, he recalls something
that can help them.
During an episode of
The Naked Chef, Jamie Oliver cut the price by breaking off the
woody bottom portions of the stalks—while
still in the store. His philosophy—and
HelperMan's—Why
pay for the crap you're not going to eat? Make them pay for it!
Dripping with epicurean attitude, HelperMan inserts himself between the
two women and wraps his Franz Liszt hands around the asparagus bundles.
With a furtive glance over his shoulder, he snaps off the inedible excess
and bags the tasty vegetables for the women. He is pleased with himself
because he has simultaneously beaten the MAN and made a delicacy more
accessible to people on fixed incomes.
Thursday, May 20,
2004
10:45am
Feeling frisky and craving fresh air, HelperMan and I decide a trip to
Central Park is in order. Since it is warm outside, we slip into a
T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. We are unshaven and very pale—thus
rather disreputable-looking (more on this later)—but
there is no time for wardrobe adjustments. We
board the train and arrive in Sheep Meadow (just a name; the sheep are
long gone) at 11:30am.
(For your edification and enjoyment,
here's a really large map of Central Park. The yellow line shows
our path throughout the day.)
11:49am
We have been in the park for less than twenty minutes and already my alter ego has found somebody to help.
A woman in a motorized wheelchair is stuck on a hill leading up to
Strawberry Fields (the memorial for John Lennon). HelperMan assesses
the situation and determines that the battery, although working, doesn't
have the juice to make it up the hill.
"Hold on, ma'am," he
says to the woman and pushes her, wheelchair and all, right up the hill.
Despite HelperMan's
considerable exertions, the woman does not thank him when they reach the
top. Instead, as if afraid of him, she engages her wheelchair and
speeds away. HelperMan is not bothered by this, though; after all,
Jesus cured ten lepers and only one thanked Him.
11:56am
While strolling the path from Strawberry Fields, HelperMan spies a
Euro-couple futzing with a map. He also notices another, more
respectable-looking man in a jacket and tie approaching the couple. Worried that his lost tourists might turn to that man for help,
HelperMan breaks into a sprint down the path.
Although winded when
he reaches the tourist couple, HelperMan easily pries the map from their
confused fingers. It turns out we're right about the Euro part:
they're from Holland and speak marginal English. They are looking
for Tavern on the Green. For a moment I consider discouraging them
from going to this eatery (the food is a step down from wet cardboard), but HelperMan does not give
me time to say anything. Within seconds he describes the route to
Tavern on the Green, which is simply the reverse of the route we walked
from Sheep Meadow.
The couple nods and
smiles, mumbling some kind of "thank you" in Danish. At least that
what HelperMan hopes they just said to him.
12:19pm
HelperMan and I cross one of the roads that runs through the park. Although traffic does not flow this time of day, one must be careful of
speeding bicyclists. Sure enough, one whizzes past us just as we
make it to the opposite curb.
Helping people is
thirsty work. We stop at a beverage vendor and procure a bottle of
Country Time lemonade because, HelperMan says, "it's not too tart, and not
too sweet." We chug it down and let out a loud "Aaaaahhh!" that
causes a passing jogger to scowl at us.
Thus fortified, we
deposit the empty bottle in one of the green metal trash cans so abundant
in the park and walk on.
1:33pm
We encounter a woman in the park who has lost her bearings. She needs
to get to southern end of the park. Although HelperMan can tell direction
blindfolded, he reaches into his Banana Republic army-style shoulder bag,
produces an orienteering compass (he'd left it in the bag weeks earlier),
and points the way.
2:02pm
In the
Met (Metropolitan Museum of Art), HelperMan and I encounter a
fifty-something couple lost in the displayed storage area of the American
wing. The man makes the mistake of asking if there are any Albert
Bierstadts or Thomas Coles (two of HM's favorite painters) in one of the
galleries.
Twenty minutes
later, the couple are no longer interested in seeing the works. While
HelperMan's back is turned, they abscond down a nearby stairwell.
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TAKE THAT, SUCKA: What the TV looked
like
after me and the old lady got through with it.
THE BITTER ENDS: One more thing to
worry about—how
grocery stores are
ripping you off. To save big $$$,
break off the portion in the oval.
Despite HelperMan's
considerable exertions, the woman does not thank him when they reach the
top. HelperMan is not bothered by this, though; after all,
Jesus cured ten lepers and only one thanked Him.
MY COMPASS: Meet HelperMan's secret
weapon for giving top-notch directions.
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