Money Can Buy Happiness

Last week I had some surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Upon release, my wife and I had to travel back to the local hotel where my wife stayed while awaiting my release.

As I maneuvered the streets of Baltimore before my entry into the hospital I was overwhelmed by the incredible number of potholes that existed throughout the streets. I'm willing to bet that one can not find 10 feet of street that is free of a pothole. I'm not talking about a bump in the road type - I'm talking about the bone jarring hole that has the capability of causing your head to bounce off the ceiling of your vehicle if not for a seatbelt. I doubt there is a car in Baltimore without front-end alignment problems caused by those monsters of destruction. No need for any speed limits in Baltimore, anyone traveling over 25 mph will soon have their vehicle sidelined for repair.

Anyway, after my surgery, we had to travel the roughly six miles back to the hotel in a taxi. Having just had a number of stitches placed in my abdomen, my number one priority was to avoid any jars that would multiply the pain I was already experiencing. Upon entry into the cab, I told the the taxi driver our destination and loudly proclaimed, "no bumps". The taxi driver was an elderly black man that had the appearance of Uncle Remus, who I loved to watch on television as a child when he related one of Aesop's fables. He took off his cap, scratched his soft white hair and repeated in a puzzled manner, "no bumps"? "OK, I'll try."

He knew he had an impossible task, but I also noted that he had an expression of empathy when I first exited my wheel chair and slowly, carefully and painfully entered his vehicle. Somehow, I knew he would do his best. We exited the hospital grounds and he tried the best he could to avoid the holes of hurt that would jar my innards and evoke those low moans of pain that I could not prevent from oozing from soul. He slowly and carefully shifted lanes, journeyed across a few side streets and in fact tried his best. If he did hit an unavoidable pothole, I could see his face in the rear view mirror which seemed to be sharing my hurt as I I grimaced. He successfully avoided dozens of potholes, but could not avoid them all. At one point he entered a side street followed by an 18 wheeler that obviously was in a hurry. The "big rig" was scarcely three feet from the rear bumper of the taxi when the first of several blasts from the truck loudly proclaimed - "get outta my way". The problem was there was no where to go to allow the truck to pass. Unperturbed the taxi driver continued at a slow pace with the horn of the 18 wheeler continuing to blast its unsympathetic message. Finally, a small side road enabled the taxi driver to pull to the side and let the truck continue on his way. Funny thing - in less than three blocks the truck pulled into a yard where it appeared a load might be ready for pick-up.

Anyway, we finally arrived at the hotel and the taxi driver exited to open the door for my wife on one side and me on the other. He did not say a word to my wife, but I noted an apologetic expression of sincere empathy on his face as he helped me exit. "I'm sorry, but I did my best," he said to me. I could see the fare on the meter was $15 dollars, but I knew he had wasted a lot of time and I told my wife to give him $35. My wife asked him the requisite question, "How much", and he replied, "$15", whereupon my wife gave him the $35. An expression of surprise materialized on his "Remus face" and he surprisingly replied, "too much." My wife said, "oh no, we thank you for your wonderful attempt." He almost unwillingly accepted the payment, said thank you and entered his taxi to continue his day's work. As we walked slowly into the hotel, my wife said she thought she saw a tear on his face.

My wife commented about how reluctant he seemed to take the tip and we both knew that both this unknown taxi driver and we would remember this day. We would remember his sincere empathy for two strangers among the millions on the Baltimore streets. He would likely remember the tip for his efforts to minimize my pain. We were glad to give it and were extremely happy to have provided him some extra money that might bring some joy into his life. For us, $20 was hardly an amount that would cause us much thought. For him, it was obviously an amount that he was unused to receiving. My wife and I hugged each other tightly as we walked through the hotel lobby. We both knew we had purchased some happiness for a very small amount.