Hero Time … Again.

I tried to search in this blog for the last time I recently saved a life, but honestly, this blog is loaded so full to the bursting point with nonsense and BS that I can’t find it. But I do recall it. Or maybe it was saving a life by not killing someone. Regardless, I did find this lifesaving story from almost 4 years ago. Anyway, yesterday, while waiting at O’Hare Airport in Chicago for my 13 year old daughter’s flight to arrive after a school trip to Washington, DC and NYC, I did it again. I saved another life.

As I was killing time before my daughter’s flight arrived, I wandered around racking up the steps. It was at the top of a down escalator when I noticed an older woman struggling a bit to take the escalator down. It looked like she planned to ride the handrail of the escalator down rather than standing on the steps. And that doesn’t normally go well.

Then I realized this woman had missed the steps, and she was hung up straddling the handrail. If you are younger, missing the steps can be okay as demonstrated by this guy.

That was obviously staged, but apparently, that normally happens a lot more often than you would think.

The woman yesterday was struggling as she was hung up on the handrail. I was concerned that she would end up tumbling down the escalator as a result of trying to extricate herself, likely to a certain doom. Old people and escalators are a bad combination.

I approached her and asked if she needed assistance. At first, she said, “No.” Then she realized her predicament or was entranced by my blue eyes and said, “Yes, yes, I need help.”

I sprang into action and took off my shirt. In retrospect, I probably didn’t need to do that, but aren’t most movie heroes shirtless at least at some point in their heroing? And it did quickly clear people out the area, so I had plenty of room to work my hero magic. I grabbed her brusquely by the shoulders and threw her onto a pile of hay. No, wait, that’s an excerpt from my latest erotic short story titled “Hey, Welcome to My Love Hay.” Anyway, I grabbed her arm and guided her off the handrail and safely onto the steps headed down.

I put my shirt back on as airport security approached and followed the woman down the escalator at a distance. I didn’t get a “thank you.” I don’t need a “thank you” for doing what I do best … being a hero. I don’t care if you don’t call me a hero. But I know you want to do something for me to acknowledge my heroism. Buy my award-winning book of short stories, and maybe I’ll include a copy of “Hey, Welcome to My Love Hay” when it’s done.


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