To win, be kind. To be kind, break the rules.

I twice lost faith in humanity today. Once, I got it back. The rules cost my faith. People breaking them gave it back. 

Three airport snippets and a meander: 

1. The bag with no status (lost #1)

At Houston Hobby Airport, I entered my information into my airline’s bag-check kiosk. It told me to see an agent. I approached one at an empty desk. She asked if I had status. I said the machine sent me to you. She asked if I had status. I said no. She told me to go to the info desk around the corner. I told her the kiosk sent me to her. She asked again if I had status. I have the right credit card and a bunch of points, so I shrugged and said yes. She asked what I needed. I said I’d like to check a bag. She checked the bag. Then she told me I didn’t have status, so next time I’d have to go to the other desk. Her questioning about my status took longer than the bag check, and it ultimately didn’t matter. The rules may be dumb. But at least they’re poorly enforced. 

2. Carousel 5 says Denver (lost #2)

Landing at LGA, I went to carousel 5, where the flight attendants said our bags would be. The sign over it said “Denver.” I had flown from Houston. Houston is not Denver. I asked the agent standing there. He said all the Houston bags were out; if mine wasn’t, I should go to the office. I went to the office. I gave the office agent my flight number. She asked for my claim check. I told her I’d left it on the plane. She tutted, found my information anyway, and told me to go back to the carousel. I went back. My bag was there. The agent at the carousel told me he’d tried to shout for me to come back the moment he realized he’d been wrong. He might have been wrong. But at least he tried to fix it, however poorly. 

3. The green bag (regained)

When the plane landed, the woman beside me turned around and said, “My bag’s in the overhead of row 13, five rows back. Green bag. Could you pass it up?” And people did. A wheely bag, no less. At least 6 strangers joined the mission. Great move. I’m surprised it worked. Well played. 

Keeping the Faith

In downtown Houston, I yelled “Praise the Lord!” Two women on the street ahead of me turned around. In New York, where I live, and Chicago, where I’d spent the last 5 days, strangers don’t look at crazy people. In Houston they do. Maybe Houston keeps its crazy people off the street. In 24 hours downtown, I didn’t see any.

I wondered if Houston just removes them. I looked it up: it’s a mix. Houston housed a lot of its homeless, Texas bans public camping, and a city built for cars has fewer sidewalks to be seen on anyway.

About 18 hours later, I boarded a Houston tram. A man with wild eyes came to the door, clasped his hands, and started begging a being only he could see. No one moved away from him. Back home we’d have given him a wide berth. Here, the crowd understands him.

Houston gives a pass for praying.