The Nicest People

by Gail Balentine

On a frigid Sunday in February, we planned a short trip to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston to see a specific exhibit. Knowing the museum gets crowded later in the morning on weekends, we arrived just after the doors opened and had the exhibit mostly to ourselves to enjoy at a leisurely pace, followed by an early lunch at the museum’s café. It was a pleasant, relaxing morning, until we started to leave for home.

Since it was so cold, Lisa went for the car while Dave and I waited inside at the Fenway Entrance. Sure enough, we watched as the Sunday crowds began arriving. I heard a cell phone ring and, thinking it was mine, reached into my pocket. Nothing. I checked my other pocket and purse. No phone. Deciding I must have left it on the café table, I told Dave I’d be right back and headed for the café. I passed the line for the coat check-in that was now long and soon found myself dodging baby carriages. By the time I arrived at the turn for the café it was hidden by a flood of people coming from the Huntington Avenue entrance and I missed it.

My claustrophobia kicked in and I felt like I was being swamped by a giant wave so, as soon as possible, I turned right and passed through several exhibit halls that were a bit less crowded. But, after about ten minutes of being bumped and jostled, none of three doorways looked familiar and I realized I had absolutely no idea how to get back. I searched for a guard but could not find one. I must have looked lost because a very tall man stopped and asked me something but, due to his thick accent, I could not understand a word. He seemed to want to help but when he pointed to his handheld map, I think he said, “What floor this?” Clearly he was as lost as me. A second man, who’d been watching us, tapped me on the arm, pointed behind us and said, “Sign”. I thanked them all as well as I could, and headed toward the sign until I found a familiar door and beyond that, the information area. I felt pure relief until I saw Dave standing there, looking more than a bit frustrated.

I knew he had questions, but I just shook my head, handed him my purse, and pointed to the café. He reminded me Lisa was waiting and I fairly ran the short distance. I checked with the cafe manager - no phone found. At that point I began thinking about all the information I keep on that phone and found the nerve somehow to interrupt the four total strangers now trying to enjoy their lunch at the same table where we’d been seated. When I explained what’d happened, they all reacted immediately, standing up and looking around and under the table. Both women assured me they had misplaced their phones, more than once. After a few minutes, one man asked if I wanted him to call my phone. With a mock serious expression, his friend said, “You may not want to give him that number, he’s an insurance salesman.”

The salesman called my phone and walked around the cafe, listening. Again, nothing. Just as hope was flagging, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Dave held my handbag aloft and said, “It’s vibrating.” To give him credit, that’s all he said. And yes, the missing phone was at the bottom of my purse - turned screen down, blue case showing, covered by a notebook the exact shade of blue. Embarrassed, I thanked everybody and started to leave. Then I turned back and, with a nod in my husband’s direction, I said to the salesman, “I might need that life insurance after all.”

As we drove home, we all marveled at how many caring people had been willing to help a stranger that day. With today’s negative headlines, it’s sometimes easy to forget that there are some very nice people out there.

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