From a very young age, I knew there was something wrong with everyone else, but even so, I was still shocked by people’s behaviour during the whole Covid madness, and I haven’t had much faith in humanity since.
Until yesterday.
There we were, my brother and I, tootling into town in our battered old jalopy when suddenly —bang — a jolt, and straight into the back of the car in front we crashed, somehow managing to wedge the fella’s towbar underneath the front of our car... a manoeuvre only a truly experienced driver could pull off.
Out hops the other driver to inspect the damage. I’m braced for wailing, recriminations and maybe some gnashing of teeth but instead he’s all sweetness and light, calmly calling a mechanic friend rather than the police.
Within moments, a crowd gathers, not to gawp, but to help. Two buildery-looking lads (real men) appear and immediately try lifting one car off the other with their bare hands. A kind lady takes my brother aside and comforts him while he indulges in his usual crisis-time bawling. Everyone else stands around offering suggestions and encouragement.
“We’re gonna need a jack,” announces the driver of the wounded car.
“Did someone say jack?” asks a woman pulling up in a posh-looking jeep. “I’ve a top-of-the-range one in the boot.”
The buildery lads get to work, the car is lifted free, and all the while the other driver keeps reassuring my brother that it could happen to a bishop and nobody’s hurt.
And that was that. No screaming. No blame. No threats. Just handshakes and smiles.
Both parties drive away in good humour.
Sometimes I just love people.
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