Nice People

I am starting to sound like a broken record.

I can count on two fingers the people who I cannot consider nice or otherwise on our road trip out here, as they were more disengaged than anything.

But all the way out here and since arriving in Ohio, it is almost The Stepford State. Smiles abound in this green land. We were turning around to get our directions from the crazy mispronouncing British girl in my Android Auto program. Every time I go the wrong way (which is a lot) there is a rattling sound as if she is shaking her head in admonishment.

You missed the turn jackass. Now you’ve got to try and turn around on this dangerous curvy road.

Every so often, I will make a wrong turn and she will let me know that my move resulted in an even faster way to my destination.

Nice.

Even the recordings are nice in Ohio.

I don’t remember her being that nice in New Mexico, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Texas, or Kentucky.

I think I got to her. Sooner or later, it was bound to happen.

I’ve had that effect on women since I was six years old.

Not gonna apologize.

One last mental visit to my recent hospital stay.

The nicest people you would ever want taking care of you.

Period.

I don’t want to jinx anything, but it’s looking good on closing on our house by September 1st. It is tiny compared to our Arizona digs, but the perfect size to take care of, without spending a complete day to ride the lawn mower or hire Molly Maid to keep up.

I am looking forward to the big concert in NYC tonight. It actually feels like a little bit normal, dare I say it?

Lost on the country roads of southern Ohio, I pull over once again to get my bearings.

“You folks alright?”

I almost pissed my pants.

He scared the hell out of me!

I was looking left, and he appeared on my right.

“Yeah, looks like I missed my turn in Loveland. I’ll just do a U-turn.”

That was not good enough for this country gentleman. He insisted on having me follow him on the shortest route (only the locals know), saving me a lot of time.

As he pulled away, I waved and shouted my appreciation. I’d still be out amongst the crops and turn-of-the-century farms and barns if he didn’t lend a hand. And I was needing to get back to the hotel.

He smiled like I was the tenth doofus of the day that he had to help.

Why did he do it?

What compelled him to take the extra time out of his day to assist a wayward traveler, sporting Arizona plates?

Because I needed help.

It is this type of selfless act that nice people do because it is the right thing to do. That feels good just writing that.

You know what else?

I am damn proud to live here.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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