By Kyle Roberts
Picture this: you’ve got a return flight home in three hours. You stand up and walk off a busy subway in New York. You walk up the steps to Times Square.
And you realize you have lost your wallet.
For some, public speaking is their worst nightmare.
Mine is not getting through TSA at the airport.
Sure enough, this was tested in real time a few years ago on a family trip to New York, where the wife and I had spent the previous four days visiting all the historic and touristy sites (and eating incredible food, of course) in our “home away from home” — Manhattan. It was a wonderful time and a great way to give ours girls their first taste of the Big Apple. We visited a dear friend of ours on the last day, and by this point, I had assumed myself to be an expert in navigating the subway system.
Turns out, the most important part of navigating the subway is making sure the wallet with your license is attached to your butt. I, sadly, committed this faux pas and created a whirlwind hellish scenario of stress and anxiety by skipping the crucial step of self-patting my pockets to ensure everything was in place.
I recognized it within minutes. It was on a subway line that was easily five minutes in the wrong direction by this point. So, as time was beginning to run out, we immediately ran to the nearest police station to file a report. And, to no one’s surprise, the nice policemen very kindly said the equivalent of “Good job, Stupid. You’ll never see the wallet again.” And that was that.
Except, a few minutes later, I received a notice of a $300 charge on a debit card to a nearby department store. We alerted the police, but by the time they were able to call, the store had let the person who had acquired my wallet (and license and cash and credit cards) head right out with some merch.
So back to square one. And again, that was that.
Except, again, a few minutes later I received a phone call from a Good Samaritan. It turns out, he had found what was left of my wallet on the floor of the subway — now bereft of the license and cash and credit cards — and saw the hotel key I had stored. He called the hotel and told the front desk that he wanted to try to get my wallet back to me. And they gave him my phone number (we can question the ethics behind that on a later column, I guess) and he called.
After a brief chat, he told me he watched someone on the subway grab the wallet and rifle through for anything of value. But I still had a medical insurance card and a couple of other small items that he believed I would want back. So we met in a public location, and he graciously gave back what was left.
Unfortunately, there was no ID for me to get on the plane to go home — and the clock was ticking.
Our friend dropped us off at the airport, and we all went to the counter with our proverbial hats in hand and begged for any help to get on the plane.
Thankfully, due to digital pre-check, we were already checked in for the flight. The next hurdle home was going to be TSA.
We bid our buddy adieu and headed to JFK’s security and looked for anyone of authority with whom we could plead our case. An agent pointed to Mrs. Kim* (name changed) a couple of bag scanners away, and we moved that way. She looked our way, and we locked eyes: she absolutely knew what had happened before we could get the words out.
By this point, I had already told Judith and the kids they were getting on the plane regardless of my fate, which was now in Mrs. Kim’s hands.
I pleaded my case, and I said the phrase “I am at your mercy; I will do anything you ask to get on that flight with my family.”
At first guarded, Mrs. Kim was now very warm after my comment. Seeing my “Chip and Dale: Rescue Rangers” t-shirt, she deduced that my threat level was well below any cause for concern.
Smiling now, Mrs. Kim did something for me I’ve never seen before: she walked us to the very front of the TSA line — passing hundreds in the process — and took us to a separate scanning line. Judith and the girls were all handed the normal gray bins you see while I had to use a red-colored one reserved for, I assume, Osama Bin Laden.
I tried not to make eye contact with the people we passed on the way through. Once we finished checking our bags, I couldn’t help myself but ask her — “If this was my mistake, why are you taking such good case of us?”
“Because you were kind,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe how many people yell at us in this exact scenario as if this is somehow our fault.”
And then we were through. I told her again how much I appreciated the help, and we got on the flight to come back home.
I can imagine what you’re thinking if you’ve flown in the last 25 years: security at airports, while necessary, can be absolutely miserable. But I learned on that fateful afternoon just how far a little kindness can go once we realize that we’re all trying to do our best, even if mistakes are made along the way.
Thankfully, we’ve been able to go back to New York a couple of times since. And, as you can probably imagine, I’m much more hawkish about having my wallet on my person (this includes a couple of extra self taps on my backside when I’m standing up to move).
But I’m also kinder and more patient. You just never know when you can make Mrs. Kim’s day — because if you’re in a pinch, she sure can make yours.
