The Kindness of Strangers

After a week of hammering, insulating, and painting, I was weary. As much as I enjoyed meeting the good people of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, I had reached a place where I was ready to resume my routine of sleeping in on Saturdays, planting herbs in my new flower bed, creating container gardens, reading cookbooks as though they were romance novels, etc.

My flight was scheduled to leave on Saturday at 6:30 am, necessitating a wakeup call at 4:15. This could partially explain the coma-like and forgetful state I was apparently in. But the upside of taking Northwest's first flight of the day was that I would be back in Wichita just before 11 am. I'd still have most of a day to wash the sand and dirt from my clothes and re-enter the atmosphere that is my life.

Which I did, only about ten hours later than scheduled.

I cannot blame this one on weather, airline overbooking, mechanical delays, or any of the other standard reasons for arriving home late.

No, this one was on me.

I left my "Habitat for Humanity" messenger bag on the shuttle bus. It had my wallet and camera in it. When the ticket agent asked to see my ID I looked in the place where I usually keep my wallet when I travel - my backpack.

I wanted to crumple to the floor when I realized what had happened. By then the bus driver was gone, returning no doubt to the Beau to pick up the next batch of weary Habitat volunteers and deliver them to the airport.

It's a horrible moment of realization when you're at the ticket counter and you know you've left your ID at home or somewhere other than your wallet. It's even worse when you know it's riding around somewhere, and you're not sure how to get to it. I considered renting a car but you can't do that without ID and a credit card.

Luckily, the kind man who dropped off the folks on the 6 am shuttle helped me out. Tyrone Reed with Calco Travel made a few phone calls and assured me that my bag would be in my hands by 7:30. He was right.

Equally kind was the Northwest ticket agent, who didn't penalize me at all for my error. I missed my flight, of course, but after getting my bag back I decided to wipe away the tears and make the best of the day. I talked with other Habitat volunteers at the airport, shut out the world in a "cocoon of tunes" with my iPod, chatted with my colleague Vivian Celeste and her husband Vernon, and read, something I hadn't done much of all week.

By the time I got home I was very nearly babbling, exhausted as I was. I don't remember much except for feeling overwhelmed with gratitude - both for the kindness of caring people who were willing to take time to help me out, and for my very large, and soft, pillows.