The Q-View

My jaunt through historic Philadelphia included a moment that reminded me that most Americans are good people at heart.

During my walk from the Betsy Ross House to Ben Franklin’s grave, I came upon an elderly woman on the sidewalk, hunched over her walker, seemingly waiting for a blue-shirt-clad tour group to pass by.  She was standing in the shade of a  store and couldn’t see around the corner. I told her the group had passed, and she was good to go.

“I’m waiting for a cab,” she said.

A teenage girl coming out of the store overheard the conversation and stopped. “Is the cab coming soon?” the girl asked, concerned because it was a hot day.

“I’m waiting to get one,” the woman said, gripping the handles of her walker.

The teenager and I looked at each other. The chances of this woman hailing a cab from the sidewalk seemed problematic.

The girl went back into the store and procured a cup of water and ice for the woman.

“It’s too full; I can’t hold it,” she said.

The girl, only a little taller than the woman and wearing a backpack, obligingly poured some out and handed the cup back.

“Thank you,” the obviously thirsty woman said.

We scanned the streets for cabs, but none were in sight.

The girl offered to call an Uber for the senior citizen. After some explanation of what an Uber was, the elderly lady, now holding the water like a chalice, agreed.

“He’ll be here in three minutes. A Prius,” the girl informed us.

Meanwhile, the woman, who “stood” about 4’8, needed to sit down on the walker’s padded seat. She did a slow-motion turn and sagged onto the seat while I held the water. She told me she was 88. She was wearing a blue dress. Red lipstick stained her front teeth.

The girl ran down the sidewalk to flag the Prius. It turned right and pulled to the driver’s side curb on the one-way street. In a No Stopping Zone.

Moving was a slooooow process: getting the woman to her feet, turning her around, and starting the tedious shuffle toward the back seat of the car.

Then a Philadelphia police officer was running toward us, yelling that the car had to move. A SEPTA bus was trying to turn onto 3rd Street and had Arch Street blocked because the Prius was preventing the completion of the turn.

The elderly woman wasn’t close to getting into the car.

When the cop saw what was going on, not only was he understanding, he pitched in to help. We got the woman into the backseat; I had to maneuver her legs into the car for her because she could not pick them up high enough. The car could now move up, and the bus could finish its turn.

The officer took the walker, folded it up, and put it into the hatch. “Thanks, guys,” he said as he went back to his foot patrol.

Meanwhile, the teenager had obtained the woman’s address and called ahead to the apartments so that someone could meet the car. The girl leaned into the driver’s window and confirmed the destination, and off the Prius went.

We watched it head down 3rd Street.

“Nice working with you,” I said to the girl, and we went our separate ways.