Not a Very Nice Person

My friend came home from Disneyworld (where he works) today to visit for a few days, and me being the maybe-too-outgoing-and-crazy friend, offered to pick him up at the airport. When I was leaving home today, I realized... I don't know my way to or around the airport...this should be fun.

So I'm driving there. In the snow. In the middle of April. In the snow. And I'm trying to figure out where I'm going--did I mention iT WAS SNOWING?

So I finally get off the exit and I switch lanes about ten times trying to figure out which lane they want me to be in to get to the correct terminal for the correct airline, and finally I get to the roofed part and go into the parking lot that has a big red light on that says "FULL." Great. Now I'm never going to find a spot. And I've already been issued this dumb ticket because parking is FOUR DOLLARS AN HOUR (seriously, you might not ever meet anybody who is as frugal with their money as I am...besides maybe my mother. Especially preparing for a mission--every dollar is precious) and so I'm going through and I remember that I'm going to need a lot of space on the side so that I can fit his wheelchair in the space between the two cars and open the door wide enough to fit his wheelchair in and these spaces are like, way close to each other. This does not look promising. Oh and look at the time, he's already landed.

Lo and behold, I look up to see a pair of reverse lights on, backing out of the perfect wheelchair accessible parking spot (without actually being a handicapped spot...I don't have one of those rearview mirror tags.) I see a suburban off to the side that is probably waiting for this spot. Probably has been since before I saw it. But this car is backing out so that I have a clear shot in, while this huge suburban is blocked. I'm not proud to say it, but I went ahead and took it. I grabbed the spot while I could. I was so done with driving and snow in April and airports and parking that charges by the hour and just crowded parking lots in general.

I wait in my car a little bit and then I decide it's time to go in. While I'm walking towards the entrance, the lady in the suburban pulls up in front of me with her window down and says, "you are not a very nice person, I hope you know." We had a brief conversation, I apologized and gave my pathetic wheelchair excuse, she told me not to make things up, once again confirmed her notion that I was not a very nice person, then drove away.

I felt awful. While I waited with the crowd of people at the terminal, I felt the hard metal around my thumb and felt like I had done injustice to my CTR ring. I knew that if someone had taken my spot, I'd be mad too. She was probably looking for a spot longer than I was. She definitely had a bigger car that was more difficult to park. She had children in the backseat. If I felt completely done with all of the things I mentioned before, I could bet that she felt that way too. And now I had stolen her spot, leaving her to continue driving around the lot, looking for another spot that she could fit into.

I sat there thinking "I'm about to be a missionary! I am a nice person!" but that wouldn't do anything for me. I knew if I had associated myself with the church in that instance, it would give me even more of a bad rep. And I continued to feel worse. I could've said, "I'm sorry, I am a nice person, but crowded parking lots bring out the worst in me." And then it dawned on me. Maybe, driving around crowded parking lots brings out the worst in her, too.

I am a nice person. Way too nice, really. Awkwardly nice. Like, a lot of nice. When I was in sixth grade, I organized a pretty boss lemonade stand to raise money for Hurricane Katrina victims, and on top of that, I donated my entire savings up until that point (around 64 bucks, which is a lot for a sixth grader) to the cause. Too long ago? Well let's consider just this week. On Sunday, I fed the missionaries on about two hours notice because nobody signed up to feed them and they had to ask last minute. While they were over, I gave them about 12 CDs that I had burned for them, some of them on my own blank CDs. I also gave them the chocolate I had bought for them because I heard one of them mention they wanted chocolate a few days earlier. I've written seven missionaries since Monday (and it's only Wednesday), and today, I used a fourth tank of gas to drive to the airport to pick up my friend. Why did the missionaries feel they could ask me to feed them on such short notice? Because I've fostered the relationship with them so that they know when they need anything, they can ask me. I love them. I do all these things out of love. I am a nice person.

This lady didn't know me. She had no concept of me. But me, I had no concept of her either. Maybe she was late picking someone up. Maybe she was picking up relatives who flew in for the funeral of a loved one. Maybe she, too, was terribly inconvenienced. And all I did was inconvenience her further.

So this is a lesson to remember every time the door gets slammed in my face. Every time I'm ignored, every time someone tells me off. It will be easy to call her an idiot behind her back. It will be tempting to tell her to her face that she is not a very nice person. But how on earth, after knowing her--no, seeing her--for two seconds, can I have any idea on earth as to what kind of person she is? I can't. The Lord knows, but I sure as heck don't. Maybe she is a nice person, but missionaries, or any kind of unwelcomed guest at her door, brings out the worst in her.  Maybe she is having a rough day and I happen to be the person she chooses to take it out on. But I never, ever, have the right to decide or claim that such and such person is not a nice person, because who I see isn't necessarily who she is.

The other point of this story is that sometimes, you need to be called on your crap. Sometimes, you need to call people on their crap. I can tell you one thing--I am never stealing a person's parking space ever again.