You Had a Chance to Be Kind Today

You had a chance to be kind today. I wish you'd taken it.

I didn't mean to usurp your parking space. My new patient's husband, "Charlie," called while I was en route to their home to let me know there was a lot behind the building where I could park. Parking is particularly challenging in your neighborhood, as you well know, so this was good news. However, when I arrived I was concerned to note that although there were many vacant parking spaces, all of them were numbered, and I shared this concern with Charlie, who was sitting in his motorized scooter waiting for me. "Nurse? Are you the nurse?" he'd called out, and I'd addressed him by name and affirmed my identity. When I mentioned my concern about the numbered, and therefore possibly reserved, spaces he told me, "You can park "back there," so I chose a spot where he pointed, pulled in, gathered my computer and supplies, and followed him to the elevator.

It was a long visit, as initial visits usually are. But there also were unusual problems in this case. Charlie's wife, Delphine, was diagnosed with cancer "about a month ago," and just two days ago returned home from a second hospitalization where the cancer had been found to be particularly aggressive, already spreading to other parts of her body. Yesterday I hadn't been able to reach her to schedule a visit; as it turned out, she was back in the emergency room because of severe, unrelieved pain. When I arrived today Delphine still was in pain, didn't have her medicine, and the hospital bed and wheelchair that had been ordered for her had not arrived. It takes some time to sort out such issues as these, with calls first to identify exactly what the problems are, and then more calls to solve them. And my physical exam and everything I do happens in slow motion, because the patient is hurting and moves gingerly, and her ability to hear and understand instructions is compromised. So my car sat in your parking space for quite awhile.

Again settling into his scooter, Charlie escorted me back to the parking lot when I was ready to leave, and there we met you. Oh, my, but you were irate! My car was in your parking space, you shouted, and, "We called the towing and it is coming now." Well, I'd say I arrived just in time, I thought, although clearly that wasn't what you wanted to hear, so I held my tongue. In fact, it didn't take long for it to be obvious that you didn't want to hear anything. And it didn't take much longer than that for anyone around to realize that there was nothing that could be said or done to help you feel better. You were puffed up with righteous indignation, and letting it rip.

I apologized, identified myself and my reason for being there, explained that I had been told I could park there while visiting my patient, emphasized that I now understood I had been misinformed and that I would not do it again, and assured you that I would remove my car at once. "You should have called ME!" one of you said, although I had no idea who you were or how to call you. If you are the janitor or a staff member who can authorize parking I surely would like to know it and would be happy to call you next time, but you weren't about to disclose anything like that. No matter that until moments before I'd had no idea you even were on the planet and that I still didn't know who you were except the wronged probable leaseholder of the parking space in question, I should have called you, you told me, and at a high decibel level. "I came back from SHOPPING," the other one of you announced indignantly, "and couldn't park my car!" While I feel quite sure my car was where it should not have been and that you were inconvenienced as a result, I couldn't help but be struck by your ability to draw yourself up and spew forth righteous entitlement befitting a setting far more well-heeled and exclusive than the asphalt lot behind the modest building where many residents, probably yourselves included, live on public aid. I don't know your life story, but you have the Rodeo Drive air down pat. Well done.

I apologized again, but you told me, "Sorry is no good!" Ah. Having established that my car was in the wrong place and feeling confident that it was not in my power to rewind the clock and make a different decision about where to park it, and quickly coming to a clear understanding that you didn't care that I had made every effort to park properly and truly regretted my error, it took no genius to realize that there was no point in continuing the conversation and every advantage to be gained by my removing my vehicle and being on my way. The tow truck you called arrived and left; my sense was that you were most angry about having been denied the satisfaction of watching my face as my car was towed away. I'm afraid I'm not sorry to have deprived you of that!

Interestingly, before I could leave the parking lot I needed to wait while you pulled your car in front of mine and carefully blocked my way as you adjusted your seat belts and did whatever else you were doing before driving off. I followed you down the road until we turned in opposite directions. It seems you had no intention of using your parking space. Evidently you arrived home from shopping, found your parking space occupied, and simply took another of the many that were vacant. Perhaps you unloaded your purchases and called the tow truck in the process. You may or may not have noticed the sign in my window identifying my car as belonging to a visiting nurse who was on site providing healthcare; if you did, it didn't matter.

My heart is sad for you. I wonder if you know that your 51 year-old neighbor would love nothing more than to be able to go shopping, but she doesn't even have medicine, much less other purchases, and can't so much as roll over because of severe cancer pain and because the hospital bed that would make movement easier has not arrived. I wonder if you noticed your other neighbor who must travel by motorized scooter because he can't walk and doesn't have a car, much less a place to park one. I believe on the basis of your presentation, your particular accented English, and the location of your modest apartment that you may have come to this country as a religious and/or political refugee and may be here at the expense of a charitable sponsor and of the US taxpayers, and that you may have come from a country where the only way to have your basic needs met was to get in someone's face and loudly demand satisfaction. I wonder if you took time to relish being able to peaceably acquire what you bought today, as well as having the money in your pocket to buy it. And I wonder if you enjoyed your ride to wherever you went as you drove off in front of me, if you amused one another with stories and jokes, or sang along with the radio . . . or if you spent a precious evening, of which your 51 year old neighbor probably has few remaining, complaining bitterly about the errant ways of a misguided nurse who borrowed your parking space without permission.

I will see you again. Or someone like me will. I will see you in the ER when you arrive with your chest pain, your stroke, your hemorrhaging gut, your fierce headache, your uncontrolled pain . . . from the effects of the stress hormones that all too often course through your body. You may arrive with stab or gunshot wounds if the next person who meets your rage responds in kind and your mutual anger escalates. I will see you through your hospital stay, and I will be on your doorstep (albeit with my car parked elsewhere) when you arrive home to begin your arduous rehab, after which, I fear, you will be left with significant permanent deficits. You see, rage is deadly, and far more so for the perpetrator than the recipient.

My evening shaped up quite nicely. Since your neighbor had needed more of my time than I'd expected, my plans to meet a friend for dinner were postponed. So I enjoyed nice dinner at home in front of a DVRed episode of Masterpiece Theatre I'd not had a chance to watch, figured out some new computer software and enjoyed a head start on some work, read a bit, and soon will turn out the light and sleep like a baby. I think you may have returned home from wherever you went and relived your anger as soon as you saw your parking space. Unfortunately, your body doesn't know the difference between the memory of anger and stress and a new occurrence of those all over again, so just parking your car probably set off your "fight" response anew. Your poor bodies! I would guess that you may sleep poorly tonight and many nights, or use drugs to ease yourself into a relatively unhealthful slumber; this is another factor that will contribute to your meeting me, or someone like me, again one day.

I am sorry I inconvenienced you by parking in your space. I don't knowingly park in places reserved for others. I'm glad to have avoided a tow, and to know not to park in that lot in the future. But I didn't do anything wrong . . . and neither did you. I asked, I followed the instructions I was given, I double-checked to be sure I had made a correct choice. You pay rent for a parking space, found it occupied by an unauthorized vehicle, called a towing company, and conveyed your displeasure to the offending driver when she appeared.

But you had a chance to notice the sign in my window identifying my car as belonging to a nurse temporarily parked for a home visit. You had a chance to see my cell phone number and call it instead of the towing company. Since you did not need your parking space at the moment anyway, you had a chance to leave a note on my windshield pointing out my error and to take no other action. You had a chance to park elsewhere long enough to unload your purchases and then be on your way, exactly as you did. You had a chance to accept an apology, allow amends, correct a misunderstanding, meet a neighbor, and perhaps even make new friends. You had a chance to forgive, to build bridges, to feel peace, to heal. But you chose rage instead, and that rage seemed to take hold of you and not let go. It is the kind of rage that will harm you one day. It already may have poisoned your relationships with family, neighbors, coworkers, and others. And one day it may kill you. It almost certainly will be a contributing factor to whatever does.

I'm the one who parked in the wrong place today, and all I suffered for it was a bit of unpleasantness from you, which, frankly, doesn't matter to me one way or another. You were the one wronged, however unintended that wrong may have been, and you then wronged yourself all the more by stewing in anger over something that could not be changed and by refusing to accept an olive branch of peace and healing. I will see you in the ER one day, and in the hospital, in rehab, and at home as you struggle to recover from the consequences of your choices, such as the unfortunate one you made when

You Had a Chance to Be Kind Today.