The gate attendant was having a good morning, and her chipper mood was undiminished by the half-ranting, half-babbling man who came running up as she was moving to close the door that led to the jetway that led down to the soon-departing plane.
He was breathing hard, grappling to find his boarding pass, muttering about what a terrible day it had been – “the worst day, ever!” As she smiled and held out her hand for the pass, he puffed and seethed of how he had overslept, missed breakfast, gotten in the wrong line on a backed-up freeway, and then raced the length of the terminal to catch this flight.
She felt sorry for him.
“Tell you what,” she said, “I’m bumping you to first class. No charge.”
He didn’t even say thank you – still too rattled to really appreciate the gesture. He just stumbled over to the door and down the winding jetway. Moving to close the door behind him, she could still hear him muttering, “Worst. Day. EVER!”
She had given him the best she had. The front row, a comfortable seat, plenty of leg room, refreshments waiting. The attendant who served him probably got her own earful of how badly his lousy day had gone.
It wouldn’t be lousy much longer.
Sitting in first class, one row behind him, was a Muslim terrorist. In a few minutes, he and his fellows would seize control of the plane and fly it into the World Trade Center. Making that beautiful autumn morning, September 11, 2001, the “worst day ever” for countless souls all over the world.
I think of that man, sometimes, when ‘m having an especially bad day. Wish I could say it helps me to count my blessings, and appreciate how much worse – how immeasurably worse – the day could be. But in truth, I usually keep complaining … just more quietly, within myself.
It would be a wonderful thing to know that every bad day will eventually get better. But alas, some days don’t.
It would be a lovely thing if every act of kindness we extend had the intended effect, was truly appreciated, made things better. Sadly, not all kindnesses do.
It would be great just to think that every beautiful morning was the start of a really good day.
But some days, like some people, hide bad things under the pretty disguise.
So, what do we learn?
The old story goes that a man was running through the jungle, pursued by a hungry tiger. The tiger was gaining on him (as tigers are wont to do). Suddenly, the man skidded to a halt, finding himself on the brink of a tall cliff, extending some distance in both directions.
He heard the roar of the tiger behind him.
Glancing frantically around, he saw, incredibly, a small coil of rope lying on the nearby ground. Thinking quickly, he grabbed it, wrapped one end around the base of the nearest tree, yanked a knot, and began lowering himself over the side of the cliff.
The rope wasn’t going to be long enough, he soon realized, but he continued to climb down it, anyway. After a moment, he heard a low rumbling from above his head and looked up into the eyes of that tiger, glowering down at him. He descended more quickly then, hoping the rope might somehow get him low enough to risk a jump to the ground below.
Then, from down that way, he heard another roar.
He looked down at ... a second tiger. Hungry, pacing, waiting.
Instinctively, he began shimmying back up the rope … until another growl reminded him of what was waiting above.
He looked desperately to one side, then the other, but the wall of the cliff was smooth and flat, as far as he could see, in either direction. Except, over there … to his right …
No. It was only a twig. Growing, oddly, from the face of the cliff. And dangling gently from the end of it, a single ripe fig.
The man felt a sudden jerk on the rope, then another. He looked up. The tiger was chewing through the hemp.
From below came another rumbling growl. The tiger down there was waiting.
Only moments left now. The man made up his mind. Holding tight to the rope, he trotted along the wall to his left, then pushed off, to swing in a great arc back, back in the direction of the twig.
He missed it the first time. He felt another jerk on the rope, heard another growl from far below.
He swung out again, another great arc, and this one, finally, brought him within reach of the twig. He lunged, grabbed it, and with the last second left to him, plopped the fig into his mouth.
He enjoyed it, they say. Very much.
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