Articles

Not To Worry

Friday, 7th January 2011 Daniel Linder

 

Not To Worry 

Nothing, not even the dreaded commute, was going to keep me from

getting to my class on time. That’s just how it is for me: If I say I’m going to be somewhere, I’m going to be there. It’s not so much the hundred miles I detest as it is the hour, sometimes two, of dead time, in bumper-to-bumper traffic.  

I figured I’d leave my office promptly at 2:55 pm. I’d be in my car at 3:00. Factoring in the commute, three hours to get to my class in Sacramento from San Francisco should be sufficient. My car is sound mechanically; that’s why I got a Honda. My gas tank is full. In a worse case, say two hours going ten miles an hour, I’d still make it there by 6:00pm. When it’s a beautiful day, listening to the radio, self-reflecting on the class I was about to teach makes the ride pleasant time to myself.    

It was one of those perfectly sunny days, blue skies above, keeping my eyes on the road. I noticed something on the road I was about to run over. Trying to make out what it was. “It’s not a rock. Some kind of something, maybe a machine part. Looked like a tiny space ship.” Whatever it was, it seemed to be getting bigger as I was getting closer. “Oh no! Just what I didn’t want to happen, happened – not enough clearance. Bang.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever happened wasn’t too bad. I was still getting to my class.   

No sooner than a half a minute later, maybe a half-mile, a car passed me. The driver was trying to get my attention. He kept pointing to my car. I didn’t know there was anything wrong. My tires were okay. No dummy lights were on. There was nothing on my roof. My trunk was closed. Then I saw this huge truck in my rear-view mirror,

the driver was motioning, waving me off the road. I wasn’t sure

whether to pull off of the road. I had no idea what was happening. I didn’t know who this truck driver guy was, or what he wanted. At any rate, I decided that I’d better pull off the freeway and find out what was up.  

I rolled my window down, stuck my head out. “Something is leaking from your car,” he yelled out. 

“Leaking?” He nodded. I nodded, “Thanks” as he drove off.  

“Jeez, what could be leaking?” I bent down to get an under-view of my car, just make sure everything was okay. There was a clear liquid, not water, running like a faucet. Finally put “one plus one” together. It had to be my gas tank. My gas tank was punctured. 

 I then checked my gas gauge to confirm whether it was, in fact, gas running out. I filled the tank that morning so I figured out where I started. As I was staring at the gas gauge, I couldn’t believe it. The needle was dropping steadily. Cars were whizzing by. I didn’t have a cell phone. I didn’t know what to do. Was I going to have to sit there until my car ran completely out of gas? I glanced into my side-view mirror looking for a police car, but no such luck. Running out of options, I didn’t want to have to call AAA. 

Sitting in my car, the needle dropping, in a moment of hesitation before the last resort, I glanced into my rear-view mirror and saw a flatbed truck also on the shoulder, parked behind me. Surprised by this oddity, I was wondering how that car got there and how long it’s been there. 

Then I see this medium-built, Hispanic-looking guy get out of the truck approaching my car. Now my heart is beating faster. “What does this guy want? He asked me in Spanish, “Problema?”  Obviously I wasn’t about to explain what happened when it was apparent he barely spoke English. I was pretty agitated, hapless. It then occurred to me that it would behoove me to show him the gushing, show not tell.  

“What to do?” I understood what he meant. “How should I know? I haven’t a clue.’ He kept repeating something. “Tanque de gas.” While I was still translating “Tanque de gas” trying to understand what he was telling me. Then I got it! “The gas tank is a problem, the “problema.” I was getting pissed off. “We know what the problem is. But, “How on earth am I going to get a gas tank right now?” I didn’t say what I was thinking, only hoping he couldn’t read my face.  

I was lost. Had no idea what to do. There was no time to think. The whole situation became surreal, like I was dreaming -- in the middle of nowhere with my gas tank about to empty with a complete stranger who didn’t speak English offering to help me. “This just doesn’t happen. Why would he be helping me?” Strange. I was getting upset and agitated. “It’s not his problem. What could he do for me? What does he want?” For a few moments I remained stuck in silence and not knowing the answers. 

Still no police car. It was getting late. I didn’t really know the area but did know I was near Candlestick Park, Hunter’s Point (an area you’d only want to drive through, not get out of the car). 

There I was looking at this man dumbfounded. All I knew was that I needed a gas tank. Where I was going to get one was another question.  “Donde? Donde am I going to find a gas tank?” going on blind faith that he’d understand enough to know what was needed, not necessarily looking to him for the answer. How would he know anyway? At least I was able to practice my Spanish. 

He paused, looking like he was trying to remember something, when his faced turned to assuredness and was pointing in the direction and indicated me to follow him. Another few moments I froze with hesitation as we’d be heading in the direction of an area where poor desperate people were lurking. “Is he thinking I follow him just like that?” 

I needed to know how far, how long it would be. He must have interpreted my non-verbal sense of threat. I was sure he could understand I had no interest getting tricked by him, or mugged, robbed, or shot by someone else.  “Dias minutas.”  “What?” I blurted back, frustrated that it appeared he hadn’t registered my fear.  

“Dias, vente. No mucho.”  “No mucho” Then in the next moment, our eyes locked, a moment of connection in which all hesitation melted away. I got it! I was going to be safe. I felt it and saw it in his eyes that he wasn’t going to hurt me. 

Then I started thinking about him. I didn’t want him to have to stop what he was doing to help me. There was no reason in the world.   “Trabajo? Don’t you have to work?”  

“Is Okay. Not to worry.” I got that he was some kind of courier and although he may have a package to deliver, that he was okay delivering it later.  

 “Your name?” I thought to know.  

“Carlos.”  

“Daniel.” 

We proceeded. As I was following him, I realized that I was on borrowed time, that I was actually going to run out of gas any second. Wherever we were going, we’d had better get there soon.  

I rolled to a stop. Looked around. Carlos pulled over. He glanced over to a wrecking yard area. “Wow! Good idea and he knew where the wrecking yards are.”  

“If only they had my gas tank, then I could figure out where to go to get it put in, cancel class, get the car there, get home, get back to pick up the car, whenever that will be.” 

Carlos and I walked into the shop together like buddies, I as his interpreter. They didn’t have the gas tank I needed.    

“Not to worry. Not to worry.” Again, as if he knew exactly what to do next. “I take you.”  

“What?! Wait! You mean I’ll leave my car here and go with you? Donde?” He seemed to suggest by his hands, “Why not? What else are we going to do?” I grabbed my wallet, locked my car and hopped into the front of his truck. 

Fortunately, the next wrecker had my gas tank. As I was getting my credit card out, I remembered that I needed to call the class, yet, at the same time I was wishing to figure out a way to somehow make it to the class. I decided to give the school a heads-up I was running late and would keep them posted. The wrecker guy let me use the phone. Then I called a tow truck.    

I still didn’t have any plan. “What was I going to do with the gas tank? Where was I going to take it? How was I going to get it there.” I looked to Carlos, into those warm brown eyes.   

“Not to worry. Not to worry.”  

“What do you mean “not to worry”? What am I going to do with this gas tank?”  

“Mi casa. Mi casa. Es okay!”  

“What?! What am I going to do with the car?” “What am I going to do at your house?” 

“Mi casa. Mi casa. Es okay!” 

“Where do you live?”  

“Daly City.” I don’t know anyone in Daly City and have never been there.  

Here we go again. “I’m going to have the car towed to his house and drive with him to his house? It was hard to wrap my head around that one. 

“Not to worry,” pointing to the package in his car, “I come back. “Vente minutes.” 

“What?! Twenty minutes. You’re going to leave me here?”  

“Not to worry. I come back.”  

I had already decided I could trust this guy so I was going to be easy. All I had to do was let the kindness in. 

That was it. I was going to do whatever Carlos said – have my car towed to his house, and go back to his house with the tow guy.  I wasn’t sure where it was but assumed the tow guy would. Then I’ll wait for him to get home.   

When Carlos was dropping me off, I saw a fire engine and a police car next to my car. “What did I do? I must be in trouble.” It turned out the police were called because the leaking gas tank posed a serious fire hazard. The firemen were pouring absorbent powder over the gas when we got there. I was informed that the car had to be towed immediately. 

Perfect timing as the tow truck showed up just then. The AAA guy asked me where the car needed to be towed. I forgot to get Carlos’s address. “Hold on!” frantically hoping he hadn’t left yet. I ran out toward where he dropped me off yelling, “Carlos! Carlos!” He must have seen me in his rear view mirror for he turned around and drove back.  

“Address. Address. Where do you live?”  “Not to worry.”  He took a piece of paper, dug around for a pen and wrote it down, barely legibly, but enough for the tow guy to read.   

I presumed correctly. The tow guy did know where to go. 

When I was driving to Carlos's house, it dawned on me that it was increasingly unlikely I’d get to class at all, let alone getting there late, so I decided to cancel the class and when I got to Carlos’s house, I’d let my students know they could all go home.

It took at least a half hour to get there and waited with the tow guy 15 more minutes for Carlos to drive up. He told the tow guy to leave my car in his driveway. I figured I’ll look in his Yellow Pages to find out the best repair shop was to get the gas tank put in when I get to his house. I couldn’t relax until I knew to where my car had to be towed. I couldn’t leave my car in his driveway. 

As soon as Carlos walked up to me, I repeated with urgency, “Telephonay es possbilay?” with my thumb to my ear and my pinky to my mouth, which I can see now was unnecessary, as he understood “telephonay.” His expression responded, “Of course.”   

“Donde your house?” I happened to be sitting on the stoop of his house, got up and followed him up the stairs, through the steel-gated door, noticing the bars on his windows, ending up in his living room. His wife was there to greet me, welcoming me for dinner. His children were sitting on the couch looking at me with smiles on their faces; a toddler, kindergartener, a grade-schooler and a high-schooler. 

I found myself in yet another awkward moment. My face was tight with consternation, taken over by a sudden bout of mistrust. I ignored his wife’s overture.   

I didn’t know how to say it. I fumbled my words. I remembered to thank her for inviting me. “Gratsy. I’ll pass on the dinner. No hungry. No hungry. Telephone possiblay? Gratsy. Gratsy.” I was impressed with my Spanish and it didn’t matter if I sounded like a “gringo.”  

Carlos was trying to tell me something. “Donde the classe?” As if canceling the class was a forgone conclusion. “Sacramento.”  

“Not to worry” I was assuring him that canceling the class would be okay and that I appreciated all he had done for me and that I’d be able could get home from here. And I just had to figure out where to have my car taken for repair. 

“Sacramento?” His eyes were flitting around as he was trying to figure out where Sacramento was. “How far?”  “Two hours. At least two.” I proceeded to dial the phone. 

As I’m dialing the phone, he motions to me to put the phone down, that he has in idea. What could he possibly have been thinking?  Pointing to his clock, “What time the class?”  

What was he was thinking?  Even if he was going to offer me his car, if, if, if, I’d be staying at my sister-in-law’s in Vacaville and wouldn’t arrive back until the next morning (so I wouldn’t have to drive at night tired.)  

“What time back?” he asked again.  

“In the morning?” making sure he understood, “Manana.” Not until 9am.   

He said something barely audible.  

“What?”  

“My car. Es okay.” I wasn’t sure whether he was kidding, leaving me in disbelief again. “He’s going to lend me his car to drive to Sacramento for the night? I laughed. What else could go right?!      

“Really. Es okay. Not to worry. Not to worry. I fix your car.”  

“I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. It was like Alice in Wonderland. My mind got going again, convincing me of the impossible. “Let me get this straight. I take your car tonight. Come back in the morning. You’re going to get the gas tank put in while I’m gone, and when I come back everything is fixed.”  

“Not to worry. Not to worry.” 

Even though it still wasn’t computing, I called to let my students know that I’m on my way, that I’d be there, maybe max 10-15 late. 

Going beyond the unexpected is an understatement. I couldn’t figure what, why or how everything was happening, going from stranger to being treated like family. All I kept saying was “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much.” I felt so inept.

“Not to worry. Not to worry.”  

A random act of kindness wasn’t random for Carlos. He wanted nothing in return. It seemed so natural for him, like he was an alien.  

“Am I obligated now?” What am I supposed to do? Could I ever thank him enough?  

He told me he was from Nicaragua. Maybe that’s how people act toward each other in Nicaragua. The odds were a million to one, ten million to one that I would have ever stopped on the side of the road for someone I don’t know and go so far out of my way.

When I returned the next morning, my car was ready. With a smile

on his face, he picked up my gas tank and showed me where it was punctured.  

“How did you do it so fast?” He shrugged his shoulders, like it was no big deal.  

“How?” I persisted. “How did you get it done so fast?”  

He looked at me pointing to himself sheepishly. “What!?”  

“You put the gas tank in my car?!” You knew how to put my gas tank in my car? Did you have the right equipment? You a mechanic, too?!”  I was still in disbelief from before.  

Now good-bye. Most definitely, some more awkward moments. Now I was leaving. Going back to my other world called reality and may never see Carlos again.

 How do I respond? What can I do? How do I show my gratitude?   

I was glad I thought to fill up his tank before arriving back at his house. It was the least I could do. “Should I give him money? Yes I should. How much? I went into my pocket and pulled out every dollar I had, a hundred bucks or so.  

He bowed with deep gratitude, surprised and touched that I offered, but stopped me. “Es okay.” I kept saying, insisting that he take the money and had to push the cash into his hand.  

There are a lot of lessons here. One is that there is a universal language I usually don’t speak and may have never seen. I was both humbled and disturbed as such a natural display of kindness was such a rarity in my life. Carlos awakened kindness that lied dormant inside me. Now I can speak the language and be more open, giving and bountifully helpful as it may occur to me to be so at any given moment.  

There are more than a couple of miracles here as well. How did they happen?  

The sequence of events was more than coincidence. There is something exquisitely mysterious about what happened between Carlos and myself. I think of him as both a person and non-person.  

A stranger who for no apparent reason and was expecting nothing in return, rescued me. He was no angel, not ethereal or imaginary, but a wholly mortal being who was kind to everyone, an inherently kind person.  

I trusted my gut, my own internal guidance system, I had a relationship with myself. I trusted my internal warning signals that told me I was in good hands with Carlos. I listened to the voice inside telling me to trust, drowning out the voice of fear, doubt and danger. 

The more I opened, the more I allowed what had begun as a seemingly chance encounter turn into a miracle.  It was as if someone turned a light on that allowed me to see and get to places in myself that were in the dark. I was barely aware of my relationship with myself -- my inner knowing, openness and kindness. There’s an old Buddhist story that reminds us that no matter how many thousands of years a cave has been dark, the moment the cave is lit, we see and can access all that was always there.   

Carlos was a light. But who is Carlos? Someone I didn’t know but could trust with my life. Something unexplainable, logic defying happened. We built a bridge of connection, regardless of whether or not I ever see him again.   

Random acts of kindness -- the willingness to go out of your way for someone who is distressed and needs help may come naturally for some, as it certainly does for Carlos. However, as hard as it is to admit, it didn’t to me and it doesn’t when I’m a creature of habit. But when I’m awake and tuned into myself, I’m much more inclined to act kindly to others for no apparent reason other than it reminds me of Carlos.

 

 

 

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