May 19, 2022
We were driving along highway 37 in upstate New York when there was a beep and the dashboard in the car flashed a message that our tire pressure was low. A few weeks ago, I had the regular tires installed replacing the winter tires, and thought the mechanics checked tire pressure automatically. Our destination was a thousand miles south, and we had to fix the tires.
We stopped at the next gas station and looked for an air pump. Not seeing one, I asked a couple of fellows working on a truck if they knew whether the station had an air pump. They pointed to the back of the station but warned that the pump had no pressure gauge built into it and asked whether I had a pressure gauge. I said I did not have one. But I backed up to the pump and thought of putting some air into all the tires anyway. To get the warning light off.
As I backed my car to the air pump, one fellow I talked with came over and handed me a new pressure gauge, still in a paper package. I opened the package, and, using the gauge, discovered that the right rear tire had less pressure than the other three tires, so I put some air into it.
When I finished pumping the tire, I went to return the gauge, only to find the two fellows had left. At the gas station, I inquired whether the gauge came from there and if so, I wanted to pay for it. But the clerk said the fellow purchased the gauge costing over five dollars. So, a total stranger bought the gauge for me! What a friendly and helpful gesture that was.
Why would someone purchase a tire pressure gauge for a total stranger? If he had one, he would have let me use it. But buying one? Perhaps I looked totally inept, and he tried to help me by buying it. But maybe he was just being friendly and trying to help a stranger who needed help? I was totally taken by this friendly gesture. And that friendliness extended to the clerk at the station who chatted with us and went out of her way to check the price of the gauge.
This was not the first time someone stopped on the highway to help us. We were driving north on I40 a hundred miles south of Durham, North Carolina when I blew a tire and stopped on an off-ramp. Before I finished calling the AAA, a friendly person stopped at our side and in less than ten minutes, changed the tire expertly, loosening the lugs; cranking up the car on the side and putting on the spare.
Not only on the highways but elsewhere too, helpful experiences await you in the US. At the local grocery chain store in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, comparable to our Loblaws chain in Ontario, store people asked me how they could help find items without prompting. It is often difficult to find a store clerk at Loblaws in Ottawa and I have never been approached by a clerk offering help.
I found the same walking on the streets of Baton Rouge this morning; people said hello and how are you, meeting you. Back home, people are more reserved and often pass you without even acknowledgment.
I think that friendliness is baked into the DNA of Americans. It may be a historical, cultural trait, borne out of hardships in occupying the country and building communities. Whatever is the root of this characteristic, it triggers a warm feeling inside of you.
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