Costco. A weekday afternoon. I was there for a 300-lb. piece of furniture. Alone. Wondering how I would load this behemoth on the flatbed cart.
An older man with a scruffy gray beard eyed the piece of furniture I was planning to purchase. It was the last one in stock. He told me about how he had bought something similar a few years ago.
"Were you planning to buy this one?" I asked.
"No, I already have one," he said, as if I had just asked if grass was green.
"How are you going to load it?" he inquired.
"I'm not sure," I said too honestly.
"Do you want some help?" No, but I knew I needed it.
We both lifted. It was too heavy, and the rolling cart too unsteady.
"I'll go to the back and push, and that will give us some room," he said.
He pushed. It moved an inch.
The man made it his personal mission to make sure I got my new furniture.
He enlisted another stranger to help. A younger man. With two small children no less!
The new stranger heartily jumped into the project like his personal honor was at stake in my success. He pushed, we lifted. The cart rolled backward.
"Put your foot behind the wheel to keep it from rolling," he said casually, "like this."
I concurred. Both our feet were inadequate to the challenge of the rolling cart.
But then, the cart stopped rolling. An older woman was standing behind the cart, bracing it with all her weight.
Four people now fully invested in getting one piece of stubborn furniture on a rolling cart so my mission would not be in vain.
She was the missing piece. The cart stabilized. The young man pushed. The older man and I lifted. Success!
I warmly thanked them all for their help. They walked away heads held high. Victory was sweet.
That's the America I love. Strangers helping others, the only reward that the task was completed well.