She would have been a little old lady lost in the rain

Another scott evil sober story®

I left my Sunday afternoon AA meeting in a bit of a rush, because it’s my nephew’s ninth birthday today, and I wanted to get home to call him. As it turns out, it had started raining, and I was ill-equipped for the weather. No problem, I thought. I’ll take advantage of the Underground City. I headed to the entrance to Westmount Square on Greene Avenue. At the door, about to go out into the rain, was a little old lady. In a not-too-thick accent, she commented that it was raining, and asked me if I knew how to get to the metro, because she didn’t know this part of town well.

I told her I was headed that way, and that I would take her there. We walked through Westmount Square to the interminably long tunnel that leads to Atwater metro. She said she needed to take the #138 or #104 bus to get home. I told her I didn’t know where to catch either bus, but that we could check the map once we got to the metro. Along the way, she asked me where I was from, what I did for a living, and things like that.

We got to the metro and found the map on the wall. As it turns out, both bus routes start at the Atwater bus terminal, so I told her I’d take her to the bus stop. We walked through the other mall, then she mentioned she wanted to buy a card for a friend of hers who had just had a major back operation. I said I’d take her to a store where they sell cards. She kept asking me if she was bothering me, if she was taking up too much of my time, if I had to be anywhere. Of course not, of course not, of course not. We went to look for a “Get Well” card, but she didn’t find anything she liked, so she said forget it. I told her I’d take her to the bus stop.

Well, there are many bus routes with stops around Cabot Square, and we walked around trying to find either the #138 or the #104 stop. She was worried that my hair was getting wet. I told her it didn’t matter - I was just going home anyway. Where did I live? Just over there, I said, pointing in the general direction of my building.

I told her it was my nephew’s birthday; she asked me how old he was, and I told her. Oh, so you must need to go see your nephew. No, I said, he lives with his parents in Ottawa. I’m going to call him when I get home.

Finally, I knocked on the door of another bus and asked the driver where the #138 or #104 stop was. The bus driver said the #138 stop was right in front of the AMC cinema complex. We headed that way, and the bus was right there. I helped her across the street, and she got on the bus.

“Thank you. You’ve done me such a wonderful favor. God bless you,” she said.

“It was my pleasure. Have a lovely evening.”

I walked the rest of the way home. When I got back to my apartment, I closed the door, and collapsed on the floor, in tears.

There was a reason why our paths crossed. She helped me “get out of myself,” as it were, and do something kind for another person, expecting nothing - but nothing - in return.

And I kept her from being a little old lady lost in the rain.


Well done, scott (not-so)evil.

Ya done good, Scott. And it sounds like you got plenty out of the deal.

Very cool, Scott. I think you built up a decent amount of karma there.

I remember being hopelessly lost in Budapest around 11 years ago and a little old lady took the time to escort me to the appropriate bus stop a couple of blocks away. This was quite the feat as she spoke no English and my Hungarian was limited to egan, nem, and kosonom (sp?) which I repeated. Alot.

egan! I had a Hungarian friend when I was young, and that’s the only word I remember! :slight_smile:

That’s a great story, scott. This is gonna sound cheezy, but its good to see you enjoying such simple, non-alcoholic things as helping someone find their bus, or the guy at the dep asking if you were alright. Keep finding those happy moments, and everything will be great!

The world would be a better place if everybody would do something nice for someone every day.

So far today, you’re about a week ahead. Glad to hear it!

That’s a great story, scott. Finding the joy in the little things in life, and being able to help someone into the bargain is always a good feeling. You were that lady’s hero (so to speak), and you’ve done a good deed. :slight_smile:


That’s sweet, scott.


Ah scott, you’re such a sweetie.

I have some big skanky love for you.

Very nice, scott. Hold onto that warm and fuzzy feeling the next time the urge to drink comes.

Did you make it to your AA meeting?

Drinking hasn’t even crossed my mind since last Tuesday.

I was on my way home from a meeting, and went to another in the evening.


You helped a little old lady in the rain?

Dude, you are so gay!!!

I’m going to hell

this is why canadians are labeled nice and polite.

good going scott evil.

Good show!

I remember getting on the wrong train in Denmark and being close to tears trying to understand the conductor. But a bunch of school kids got it all straightened out for us.

Good on ya, man.

Shine on, you sober diamond.

I am resurrecting this thread becauseit deserves it and I want to hijack it with my own long winded angel story:
On June 4th, 2001, my invalid brother who was in a long term specialty care hospital so as to tend to his Trach had his blood pressure bottom out. I received a frantic wake up phone call from my mom at 6am, before she had taken her Xanax, tellilng me he was “going to die today.”

Of all the ways to start your day, this possibly is the worst on record. I don’t recommend it to anyone.

Knowing she is in no state to drive, I call my husband at work and makes the quick drive over to her house to drive her to the hospital that is about 25 miles from her place. Meanwhile, I get myself and two kids dressed, place a phone call to my mother in law to watch the kids and promptly get in the thick of the morning traffic.

I was log jammed up for the better part of nearly two hours due to a massive accident of an overturned semi truck. I cannot reach my husband any more on his cell because he is inside the this long term care place and the phones have to be off. Visions of my brother dying with my husband by his side flood me and all I can think is, " I will never ever be able to make this up to my husband. No man signs on for that. I hope my mom takes a pill. I should be there…crap."

By the time I get to the hospital, around 1030am ( three and a half hours after I left home…a 53 mile trip…) I was phyiscally pooped from the strain of traffic and the what if’s game and I was very surprised to see my brother perkier than usual. Actually, he was better than he had been since the latest round of illness put him in the hospital.

I send hubby off to work to manage my mother. ( a full time job with lousy pay) and proceeded to sit there in a tiny, crappy hot room watching my mom micromanage him and he manipulate her as he did in his oh-so-subtle ways. I was ready to have a stroke from it all.
I get to deal with a Foriegn doctor with great bedside mannerwho had absolutely a great brainfart or just pure incompetence, who is going to prescribe throat lonzenges for a man who has a trach. It isn’t recommended. He got a spray instead.

I managed to corner him outside the room, without my mother, to ask him What Exactly The Deal Was with my brother’s blood pressure and why heroic methods were used to save him when he has a DNR.

WEll, a long story short, my mother decided to have no mechanical means necessary to revive him, but didn’t have the no-pills or whatever stipulation. I was left in the hall way slightly agog because I had been conversing with my brother, he would have to put a finger over the trach thingie, but we could talk and he was very coherent, clear and focused. So, why is my mom calling the shots? My brain wasn’t operating at it’s usual level and I put it in the back of my mind until later.

So, the inner cold hearted bitch inside of me is just wondering at when in the hell this will all be over so my mom can get on with her life. It is not that he is an inconvenience, he had no quality of life and would only get worse.
By mid afternoon, having no breakfast and this place had no cafeteria and nothing within walking distance, I was ready to pass out. I convinced mom into leaving " to beat the afternoon traffic" ( when you get old, beating traffic is pretty much your biggest pre-occupation) and we depart and talk of whatever on the drive home ( can’t remember). I drop her off and decide to hit a drive thru so I can get to pick up the kids faster before the traffic home is a log jam.

As I was coming up to a left turn onto a high way ramp that I’ve used hundreds of times, but not in the last few months, two things were going through my mind: Does my mom have the right to make a decision regarding my brother’s medical condition if he is coherent and communicate his wishes and oh, look that pontiac sunfire is running a red light and is going to hit me…


I ran a red light. I mean a real red light I was so engrossed and tired, stressed out, and hungry. ( I hadn’t eaten my sandwich yet. I can’t eat and drive in stop and go traffic.) Totaled out my van and totalled out the kid who could not avoid me and all I could think was: I hope he is ok (he was) and thank god the kids were not with me.

These two women, coming home from playing golf, stopped and stayed with me while I waited for the cops, the wrecker, my husband.

They were so kind and compassionate and I am convinced that they were angels.

They were the bright spots on that crappy, crappy day, renewing my faith in humanity a hundred fold.

WOW! What a hellacious day,Shirley. I am glad everything seems okay for the time being. Having done the whole by the bedside thing and deal with frantic mother thing my heart goes out to you! double hugs

That was such a sweet story (scott’s) I can just see the little old lady.
Nothing beats the feeling you get when you are kind.

Kudos, Scott. Got a lump in my throat when I read your ending. That is the classic definition of “A Random Act of Kindness”.