while i was trying to wade through the large amounts of people trying to leave the central subway station, everyone abruptly came to a halt in front of the subway turnstiles. two french girls had misunderstood the tap-out process, and one of them was now stuck behind the gate. as i was wracking my brain on how to explain the tap-in tap-out process of the milan metro to both of them with my rudimentary french while they both got increasingly upset at the closed gate between them, a young teenager suddenly pushed me to the side.
i was just about to give him my most scathing disgruntled glare when he took out his ticket and, after realizing they had no common language, started gesticulating wildly in front of the french girl left behind. he pointed at the ticket, then at her, and very seriously said: “on three, we go.” she nodded, and after he counted to three, holding up his fingers so there could be no confusion, they sprinted through the gate together, giggling profusely afterwards as if they had just pulled off the heist of the century,
it was just a small moment during the morning commute. but i realized then and there that the time i had spent trying to intellectualize the problem and wondering if my lack of language skills would be awkward the situation could have already been resolved. and that while i had been mad about being pushed aside, the teenager got it exactly right: no questions, no fear or shyness, just direct action to help where you can and rushing there to do so. i think about him every time now when i run to lift someone’s pram or ask a lost looking person if they need my help despite the fear of being rude. on three, we go.
When I was traveling between Israel and Palestine in early 2023, there was a point at a busy, poorly-managed security check where men and women had to split into separate lines.
I was placed in the women's line, where a female security agent was directing a long line of women dressed in every style from me in my jeans to long, formal-looking gowns to veils, hijabs, niquabs, and saris were directed to put their shoes and bags into the X-ray machine and step through a metal detector. (I felt very out of place in my trousers and short-sleeved shirt, like I had arrived to the company christmas party in lingerie.) Once through, she would pat us down through our clothes before allowing us to meet with the men's line.
Whilr I was waiting, the line slowed and then stopped. A women who had already passed through had placed her shoes on the rolling belt without a bin, and the shoe had jammed the machine.
Thr reason I suspect she didn't use a bin was likely because there was no clear signage indicating where to put a bin or get a bin- just sort of a halfhazaed pile next to the intake area.
And like- you get nervous in unfamiliar places, right? But nobody in uniform was doing anything about it, and an old woman in a wheelchair was crying with her family, and so a few of us- complete strangers, mind you- just started collectively helping each other sort things out.
I fixed the shoes jammed in the conveyor and began stacking bins. The lady in front of me with the great big long skirt started passing empty bins back down the line. The person behind me showed another woman where to put her things- and then the line started moving again. My turn to pass through came, I got pat-down, and we all continued to our next location without a single word.
And I feel like it was such a beautiful moment, like OP's experience, because like... here we all were, a big group of 'women' (ostensibly- here I was) just... seeing a problem, and fixing it. A bit of meaningful eye contact, some sheepish and amused smiles, some genuine laughter, and a mutual goal to divide up the problem and help each other.
I was nervous to be there with my short hair on display and my pants and bare arms surrounded by strangers in modest fashion, traditional or religious clothing, worried about being judged, maybe, or doing something wrong, or being disrespectful by accident- but it didn't happen.
You can tell yourself we're all just people, and feel like you understand it, and believe it to be true. But there's a difference between knowing something and experiencing something, and being surrounded by people you can't speak with, who you look nothing like, from a whole different world that you don't understand, and sharing a weary, good-natured, universal look of, "Oh lord, here we go now" is just. Really, really special
Experiences like this, where nobody really talks but everyone still gets it, and has a laugh- it makes the world feel smaller and less frightening, doesn't it?
On three we go, indeed
My mom told me this story a while ago about a young mother she met in the grocery checkout line (paraphrased here from memory):
“She couldn’t have been much older than you, possibly even younger, and while I didn’t know the language she spoke - I think it might have been Vietnamese? - it seemed pretty clear that English wasn’t her first language, and she was struggling a bit with trying to manage a cart full of baby supplies, the Actual Baby, and trying to get ready to talk to the cashier when her turn came with a handful of coupons she seemed to be struggling to translate the text on with her phone. I didn’t want to intrude, she seemed stressed enough, so I just tried to quietly give her some space and keep everyone else in line from crowding her….
But then? Her little girl, just a tiny baby, started laughing.
And this young mother went WILD, she’d been so quiet and polite this whole time but now she was turning to anyone who would listen and urgently trying to get something across, but none of us could tell what she was trying to say… Until it clicked for me, and I just had to point at her baby and say ‘is this her first time? Her first laugh?’ and this sweet young woman’s face just *lit up*! And all she could do was take my hands and go ‘YES! YES YES! Her First!!!’
And I remembered *your* first laugh, and I practically DANCED around the checkout line with her going ‘CONGRATULATIONS, HONEY, THAT’S WONDERFUL!!!’, I was SO happy for her and her little girl, and she just hugged me and cried and laughed, and the language barrier was a bit of a struggle but I helped her sort out her groceries and payment at the register as best I could… and some part of me ached to think she must be so far from home, with no one to share this joy with except a strange lady at the grocery store. I hope they made it home ok, and that she had family to share the news with somewhere.”
Side note: my mom is a kind and wonderful person, but not always a terribly Emotive one? She’s typically very levelheaded and purposeful in how she acts and presents herself, and hates to make a scene. Yet I completely believe this story, because I’ve not only seen the rare occasions when she gets swept up in the joy of others, and I know she wouldn’t lie about something so frankly *random*, but because she genuinely teared up in front of me for the first time in YEARS while telling me this story.
“I couldn’t help but think of you. This was someone’s daughter, and someone’s new grandbaby, both out in an unfamiliar part of the wider world, both trying to figure things out for the first time. I hope someone would share your joy with you, and look after you, if you were in that situation.”
The story’s stuck with me. I think about it a lot.
