BE NICE

Today at work, in advance of the busiest week of my season, with a dozen fires to be put out, I got a call from a very irate, elderly gentleman who demanded to speak to me personally and privately. The conversation began with a history of his regular Thursday men's luncheon group, where they liked to go, what they liked to order, down to ingredients on the sandwiches and 'that onion soup, with the cheese on top', how they typically liked to split the bill, who they invited, what they discussed, and then a detailed recounting of a very bad recent lunch experience.

(For those of you who don't know, I do not work in a restaurant.)

About fifteen minutes in, I wondered if I was being pranked. Had someone tattooed on my forehead, scrawled on a bathroom wall or taken out a freaking billboard with my phone number that said CHANDRA HOFFMAN SOLVES PROBLEMS?

The conversation lasted thirty-five minutes, mostly with me listening, and at the end, I suggested a few possible solutions and he thanked me and we hung up.

When I recounted the story at dinner, my teenagers were astounded that I had stayed on the phone so long, and even presented ideas for a problem that was not mine to solve. Here's the thing:

My Dad is dead. But before he died, seven years ago, he was old. And it is my fervent hope that should he have ever called a stranger and angrily recounted a long story, and dropped into her lap a problem to be solved, he would have been met with kindness.

In a lot of ways, I told my kids, that phone call was the easiest part of my day.

To quote Ram Dass, "We're all just walking each other home."

That's all. Be nice.