Dorothy Wilhelm: Believe it or not, good Samaritans still exist

Forty years ago, on my very first day in my new hometown, I locked my keys in the car. The manager of my small bank in Lakewood dropped everything to drive me home so I could get the extra set of keys.

I’ve told that heartwarming story often lately, as I grow increasingly frustrated with trying to speak calmly and clearly to a robot voice on the phone or to press 1 for a menu choice I don’t even want. That kind of customer service is gone for good, I always concluded and I believed it, too, until last Tuesday when my car (a different one) died right in the middle of that same Lakewood parking lot.

I was running late as usual, frustrated after searching for a Halloween costume to send to one of the grandkids. (Have you seen them this year? The costumes, not the grandkids. I actually saw a Gourmet Turkey Costume for $136 plus tax. Why would anybody want a gourmet turkey costume? I say, stick a couple of feathers in the waistband of the kids’ jeans and pour a can of cranberry sauce over his head. Save $134.50.)

Fuming, I slid into the seat and turned the key, expecting the smooth hum of the engine. Instead I heard a cough. I tried again. Umph, went the engine. And then phfff. Then nothing. It was not going to start.

I eased out of the car and closed the door quietly. My theory is that if something isn’t working, you should quietly walk away for an hour or so and perhaps there’ll be a spontaneous healing in your absence. It doesn’t happen often, but seemed worth a try.

The old bank is long gone, swallowed by another bank, which also disappeared. So I hiked a mile down Gravelly Lake Drive and found myself in front of the credit union where I make my infrequent deposits. This was more like it! I’d slip inside, sweat onto one of their chairs for awhile; maybe have some fresh popcorn and ice water.

Everyone inside was very sympathetic. “Someone will run you back to your car after you rest a minute,” I was promised. I was just beginning to air dry when a very determined-looking young woman, with a package labeled “jumper cables” in her hand, came for me. “Let’s go,” said Jyll, who turned out to be my new Super Hero.

And that brings us back to the parking lot, where I stood, holding the owner’s manual, while Jyll carefully broke open the package of brand new jumper cables.

“Have you ever done this before?” I asked a trifle suspiciously.

“No, but I know how,” she said firmly.

We were busily following the diagrams, as a procession of young men stopped by to see if we needed help. If you ever want to meet men, it turns out all you have to do is stand in any parking lot with the car hood raised, the owners manual open in your hands, and a puzzled look on your face. You can take your pick of fellows.

I said we certainly did need help, and Jyll said that we certainly did not. She won, but I still think she could have let me keep one or two of the guys.

When the cables were in place, I started my car and the engine sprang to life. That simple! Jyll drove away with a wave, and a salute like the Lone Ranger.

This is the time of year when the wind turns cold, and the small creatures that used to live outside suddenly feel an urge to move into your house and snuggle up. The tree frog that disappeared from my front porch in June is back and seems to have brought a roommate. I would say that romance is in the air, but it’s very hard to tell with frogs. They might just be good friends.

But you can never have too many good friends. They are rare creatures indeed, but like the folks at Washington State Employee Credit Union in Lakewood, they are there; real people without canned voices or numbers to press. There must be more like them. Keep looking.

Dorothy Wilhelm can be reached by e-mail at Dorothy@itsnevertoolate.com.