It was fall of 1996. I was still embroiled in corporate life as a regional manager for a national magazine. Our company mandated that we attend a sales meeting in Nantucket, Massachusetts, even though the climatic conditions were far from optimum for flying.
My co-worker Bill and I had flown to Boston, Massachusetts together from Los Angeles, California, where the weather had turned from bad to worse. A dense fog had come in, thick as a brick, making flying out of Boston impossible.
We began chatting with another woman who was stuck at the terminal with us. Suzanne* wore a festive straw hat to commemorate her annual ‘girls’ getaway weekend. She was friendly, open, and easy to talk to. When you’re traveling and enduring a weather crisis together, even strangers can become quick companions.
By now, it was close to 9pm and all three of us had been waiting four hours at the airport, hoping the fog would lift so that we could take one of those prop planes to Nantucket. The fog was stubborn. We weren’t going anywhere.
I saw the look of dismay on our companion’s face. She and her friends had been meeting for several years for these reunions, and this hazard clearly put a dent in her plans. Her money was tight, and this was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself.
She scouted around, planning to hunker down among the airport chairs for a rough night of sleep. She clearly didn’t have money for an unexpected hotel room, and was trying to make the best of the situation.
My co-worker and I decided that we’d better find a room, and try our luck at the airport the following morning. No way were we going to slam ourselves in some pretzel position in an airport chair just to save a few dollars. Our company would pick up the tab, and our meals as well.
I looked at Suzanne and then to my partner Bill.
“Maybe we should ask her to join us?” I suggested. “I’ve got a pretty large room and she could sleep on the couch.”
He nodded in agreement, and we asked Suzanne to join us for dinner, and a free stay at the nearby hotel. Keep in mind, that I didn’t know this woman at all. She could have been a thief, a drug addict, or worse. But my intuition told me otherwise.
Her face lit up like Christmas morning when we extended the offer. We all headed out to a nearby pub, grabbed a few cocktails, some bar food, and then headed back to our hotel.
From the living room of our room, she called her husband and told him of her good fortune. I said goodnight, and closed my bedroom door. The following morning, the fog had lifted. We headed back to the airport to catch our flight, and then all parted ways to resume our lives.
For several years after that incident, I received an annual postcard from Suzanne. Each one thanked me again for my generosity in her time of need.
*Name changed to protect identity.