Feeling large

In a bizarre fit of bad decision-making, I decided to go to the mall today. Three weeks before Christmas and I go to the mall on a Saturday afternoon. Too much sugar, clearly.

I was walking past the escalator in Penneys when an older woman with a stroller fell as she was disembarking. Unable to do anything else, the four women behind her fell as well, landing right on top of her.

Arms and legs were flailing and everyone was calling, "Help!" Because I'm a stellar citizen, I dropped my purse and ran to help pull the women up and untangle themselves from the stroller and the first layer, who had apparently hurt her ankle.
When everyone was up and the saleswoman was phoning for help, I went to find my purse.

There it was on the floor, exactly where I'd dropped it, now surrounded by spectacle onlookers. (What? You never saw a heap of Hispanic women screaming at the foot of an escalator before? Sheesh! Get a life!

That could SO have turned out the other way: purse gone.

Helping the ladies in distress and having my purse unstolen made me feel large, very large.

As I left the mall, I said, "Excuse me" when I walked in front of a old man who was looking his parked car. Perhaps he had been lamenting the death of manners in America and I restored his faith. I was that large. I'd just helped a pile of ladies and no one stole my purse.

In the parking lot, I grinned confidently at a trio of scary-looking guys with tattoos and earrings - surely gang members. Perhaps they'd been looking for a car to steal and my "you're a worthwhile person" smile changed their lives forever. Right now they're talking about joining the Peace Corps. I was feeling that large.

I'd just helped a heap of frightened senoras, restored faith in America and had an unstolen purse.