Helping Out

By Mike McQuaide

It’s a terrific feeling to know that one is being useful to one’s fellow man. Whether it’s helping a harried young mother lift her stroller up onto a crowded bus, or assisting a lost tourist in the Péitrussdall who’s spent the last hour looking for the Bockfiels, being able to lend a hand is simply the best.

It feeds not only the helper’s soul, but that of the helpee as well. For the world seems less like an unfriendly place when one realizes that there are complete strangers out there who are more than willing to help out in a pinch. I believe this to the deepest depths of my very soul.

But it’s not always easy. For there are times when I struggle.

Case in point, I recently accompanied my wife when she was shopping in a ladies’ clothes store in the City Centre. We were waiting in line to pay when, from the corner of my eye, I saw the woman behind us drop something.

Earlier I’d noticed that her arms were full and so, in keeping with my soul’s wish to be useful, I turned toward her with the intention of picking up said dropped item. I imagined that upon handing it back to her, we would share a knowing smile--one of both appreciation and of paying it forward: ‘I help you out; now go forth, ma’am, and help others as I have helped you.’ Something like that.

Thusly, I was just about to reach down to retrieve her dropped item when I got my first good look at what it was: some sort of purplish-pinkish, lacey matching bra-and-panties set crisscrossed with a dizzying array of daintily-flowered straps, hooks, wires and who knows what else. Yikes! There was no way I was gonna pick up THAT thing!

It’s not that I’m at all a prude, but rather someone whose inner 13-year-old boy is still large and in charge. It’s an inner 13-year-old who remembers only too well hanging out at the mall with his friends and how we’d push each other into the Frederick’s of Hollywood sexy underwear store while shouting things like “Go get yourself some more underwear, fairy!” All the while fearing that the one girl we secretly had a crush on would walk by at that exact moment.

Now, there in the ladies’ clothes store in the City Centre, I found myself trapped in a true moral conflict. And one that required action. For in turning toward the woman behind us as if I were going to help her, I’d committed myself physically to do something. But what? My mind raced through the possibilities.

Inspired by my wife’s and my recent binge-watching of “House, M.D.”, I briefly considered faking a seizure. I knew that I could convincingly shake uncontrollably while rolling my eyeballs to the back of my head, but I doubted my ability to make myself vomit or bleed out of my ears. And even if I could do those things, the mess I’d make and attention I’d draw would be almost as embarrassing as picking up that lady’s frilly underwear. Almost.

In the end I faked a minor coughing fit. I threw in a fake sneeze too which had the desired effect of drawing a “God bless you!” from my wife and something French-sounding from the woman ringing up our purchases. Crisis had been averted.

I’m not proud of what I did but alas, we humans are fallible. We may have the most noble of intentions but sometimes things happen that are beyond our control and abilities to cope: e.g., a woman drops provocative underwear near a man’s foot. It’s just one of the many challenges we all face.

I don’t know whatever happened to that lady’s dropped lingerie; it could still be there on the floor for all I know. I do know this though: I vow to do better next time.

I’ll let my wife shop in the ladies’ clothes store by herself.

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