Absolution

Got lost on my self-made field trip to the Black History Wax Museum of STL. I was disoriented and upset in a sketchfest town after over an hour of fruitless driving when I saw an actual black person trying to hold his car back from rolling down a hill. I rolled down the window (super ironic note: I was listening to the "The Money Song" from Avenue Q) and asked if help was needed. Yes, he gasped. He ran out of gas in such a way that he could not leave the car or it would roll into traffic. With a plastic gas can in tow, I trotted across the street and down a block to grab some fuel for the stranger. I returned, and the car was still stalling. "More," he said, and I agreed. Back again to the station, filled up, crossed the speedy cars once more, watched the car fire up.

People always give these stories in church: "I couldn't figure out why i couldn't get to where I was going, but then, while I was misled I was able to help someone else." Well ding-dang if it didn't just happen to me. For some reason, as I drove away I still felt a twinge of failure. Sure, I had helped a living person instead of oogling wax, but I LOVE WAX. And, then, a school bus of children pulled in front of me. About six kids were crowding the back window making the honk motion. So, I did. In the middle of the crowded highway, I honked with all my might and the kids cheered. That kind of absolves everything.

When you help others you can't help helping yourself.