This is New Jersey: I drive, um, often. I can count on one hand the number of times I have stopped to offer another motorist help. And that offer of help is accepted even less. I was late already for my morning swim aerobics class because of the Seuss salute at school. I had the instructor's word that I could attend the later water exercise class instead, so late, but not in a hurry. The driver was out of her car on the grassy curb between the sidewalk and the street with her tailgate open and a tire jack out. Her tire was noticably flat, no question. I forced myself to pull over, just ahead of her. It was 25 degrees and she might have children in the car. The rosary hanging from her rearview mirror made me think that I was right to stop. She said she was alright, that help was coming and that she was alone but was just concerned about waiting in the car because she was afraid another driver would plow into her. The speed limit is 40 m.p.h. through this Manalapan neighborhood, not a dangerous part of town at all, but people do not observe the speed limit there and the road is narrow without a shoulder.
The incident recalled to my mind another time that I stopped for someone, many years ago: he was stranded at my Parkway exit, 102. He wanted to walk to the nearest gas station and asked me which direction, so I offered to take him. At that time, I kept a portable, red gas can in my trunk for emergencies like this. I think I bought the gas for him, just a couple of gallons. His story did not make sense: drove from Brooklyn to visit a sick friend in a Lakewood hospital. He got off at exit 102 by mistake and ran out of gas trying to figure out how to get back on southbound (it can't be done - I told him how to get to exit 100). I don't think that I gave him any money but he seemed agitated just before he got out of my car as if he meant to do me harm and lacked the nerve. Maybe he was simply upset about his sick friend or couldn't believe that someone was helping him. Or maybe he caught a glimpse of my guardian angels.
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