Omaha and I were at the airport to pick up Kouryou-chan, who was returning from Rome on an intercontinental flight with her friends. We were looking forward to seeing just how exhausted she was. The airport was crowded, especially the space we were in, with gleaming escalators leading up from the bowels of customs to the reception level, and then across the platform ascending further to the promised release of taxis and parking. There were at least a hundred people standing around.
A woman fell down the escalator leading up. The escalator, fortunately, detected the sudden emergent shift in weight and froze, an alarm buzzer ringing loudly. To her enormous luck, she landed on her luggage rather than the sharp edges of the escalator itself, but she was upside-down and pinned down by the awkwardness of the position and her own substantial weight.
I ran toward the crisis. I was one of only two who did.
She insisted she was unhurt. She was extremely grateful for our help, and I ended up carrying her luggage up the escalator as the other fellow helped her reach the top flight and the skyway to the parking garage.
When I was taking CPR classes, they called that "hero training," the knowledge that if you're fit and capable, you should always run toward
the crisis. You're in a position to help. Hero training was little more than the awareness that most individuals will assume the problem belongs to other people
. People will just stand around and seek out social affirmation that something should be done, that someone else will take care of the problem.
A lifetime of living of with someone with epilepsy has only reinforced this training. I only wish I could apply it toward my personal life.
Current Music: BabyMetal, Teasing Not Allowed