A Bizarre Encounter With A Stranger Taught Me A Key Life Lesson
When a stranger's outburst revealed his emotional struggle, I found myself offering support in an unexpected way for both of us.
Olga Ignatova | Canva One sunny afternoon last year, I took my car to the local car wash, unaware that this mundane task would take me on a cathartic journey that would stay with me forever. I’d gone to this car wash simply because it was the best in the area. It was a mechanical system where your car would be treated by an employee first; then, you would drive it forward onto a conveyor belt that would pull it through the washing mechanism, moving from station to station. Unlike most modern car wash systems, it did a pretty good job and was worth traveling a few miles to.
As usual, I parked first, went inside, and paid the cashier for the privilege of using it in the main petrol station, then drove round to the entrance to be greeted by whoever was on duty. As I approached this particular day, I was pleased to see no queue. I could get the job done immediately and get on with my day.
As I approached, the young man on duty started placing cones before the pre-wash area and closing it off. Having been assured just moments earlier it was open, I was not pleased.
I was even more irritated when I noticed he had a pack of cigarettes in his hand and was closing it off so he could have a quick smoke.
Even though I wasn’t in a hurry, I didn’t appreciate waiting there while he sneaked off for a crafty puff. Who knows how long he’d be? No, this would not do. I, after all, was a paying customer. I have rights. I deserve respect. I’d need to have a word. I opened the door and leaned out of the car.
“Excuse me mate, I’ve just got my ticket for the car wash, I’d like to get it done now please.”
I’m embarrassed to admit I was short with him because, in my head, I genuinely felt I was about to be taken advantage of.
No one likes that. Sometimes people need to be told that you’re not going to take any crap, don’t they?
The young man, probably no more than twenty years of age, turned and flashed a look at me that seemed full of anger. He was of average height and build, with short hair and a single earring, dressed in the obligatory blue overalls. He very much typified the sort of young employee you’d see for this type of job, the kind of thing I’d done myself at his age.
There was a slight hesitation as if he was thinking over his next action or response, and then he burst into fully animated — and unexpected — action.
Screaming an expletive, he kicked one of the cones he had just carefully placed as hard as he could, and I instinctively ducked as it sailed over my car into the empty space behind.
It landed with a loud thud, followed by the sound of scraping along the tarmac.
He screamed — literally screamed — and threw his pack of cigarettes against the wall as hard as he could. He turned back with a laser eye focus to take on the second cone, which was clearly about to receive the same treatment.
Meanwhile, in those few seconds, I had gone from being a little peeved to absolutely furious. How dare he? Not only had I been forced to ask someone to reopen the car wash, but I had been assured it was open just minutes earlier. Now, I’d had a cone kicked at me. And all just because this young lad was being denied a quick smoke for a few minutes.
This was unacceptable. After all, I was the customer. Take your temper tantrums somewhere else, mate. It's not my problem. I want my car cleaned right now.
Meanwhile, as expected, the next cone also received the full force of his right foot and verbal assault. As it whistled through the air and out of sight over the bushes surrounding the car wash, I was already drafting my strongest possible complaint to the establishment’s management.
But then, fueled by the anger and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I decided on a different course of action. I wasn’t going to complain to anyone.
I’m a grown man of at least double his age. I can deal with this stupid, spoiled, and work-shy kid myself. There’s no way he will get away with this outrageous behavior.
My inner voice went into overdrive: He will get an earful from me, and I will make sure he does his job right here and right now. Why do I even have to do this anyway?
I jumped out of the car, fully ready for the confrontation. As I marched up to him, full of intent and hateful words forming at the back of my throat, I noticed, for the first time, that he looked something other than annoyed. He looked stressed.
If I didn’t know better, I’d have said he looked close to breaking point. His face was puffy and red, and his demeanor was that of someone who seemed broken, on the edge of implosion.
His eyes, now that I could see them clearly, were not full of the anger I had expected to find. Instead, as he looked at me directly, they seemed to scream, ‘Help me.’
Tero Vesalainen | Shutterstock
I had never experienced this before, and despite not having any expertise in this area, I was immediately sure that this was what I was witnessing. It instantly and completely changed what was going through my mind.
I was still marching towards him with the momentum my initial rage had given me, but now I slowed and raised my hands as if approaching a dangerous, wild animal and wanted to show my benign intent. He stopped. I stopped, still with hands raised by my sides. We faced each other, both of us unsure what to do next.
The world around us was busy, but, at that moment, there was only the sound of his rapid breathing and, in the background, my car softly ‘binging’ where I had left the keys in the ignition and the door open. We locked eyes once again. He seemed utterly lost.
I felt he wanted me to do something, to help and protect him from himself, but he couldn’t form the words.
Or perhaps, like many of us, he was afraid to expose his weakness further, fearing public rejection or ridicule.
I gingerly stepped forward, slowly lowering my hands as if dropping a weapon and surrendering. He was motionless, still staring intently at me as if trying to assess if I remained a threat. He allowed me to come within inches of him, and I asked him, in a voice not much louder than a whisper,
“Hey man, are you OK?”
The words triggered another instant reaction. In one move, he broke our gaze as the features on his face screwed up, preparing him for the tears that were now inevitable, and he looked down, seemingly utterly ashamed.
His one-word, half-whispered answer hit me with the force of a powerful punch to the gut. “No”
He immediately ran off through the door in the brick wall next to the car wash, labeled ‘Staff Only,’ and slammed it shut. I had no idea what I was dealing with or what I should do next. Clearly, something major was happening here, yet I felt totally out of my depth.
I didn’t know how to provide any emotional support, or even if I should be, least of all, to another bloke who was, after all, a stranger to me and, by rights, should be washing my car right now.
In silence, I stood alone, maybe for a few seconds or as long as a minute. Eventually, I became aware of the noises of the world creeping back into my consciousness. I realized my car was still ‘binging’ from where I had left it at an awkward angle on the tarmac just moments earlier and walked back to attend.
As I leaned in to switch off the engine, I noticed that the cigarettes — the pack noticeably dented from its previous impact at the young man’s hands — had bounced off the wall and landed near the front wheel. I closed the door, locked it, and picked them up.
I walked over to the door he had gone through, gently knocked on it, and let myself in. It was no more than a tiny, windowless storeroom full of materials and chemicals for the car wash and a single swivel chair placed next to a worn desk covered in delivery notes.
The young attendant, now sobbing violently, was slumped in the chair and looked up as I entered. He only seemed half surprised to see me. I approached him slowly and lowered myself down to his height, now kneeling uncomfortably on the damp floor.
I placed his cigarettes on the table beside him and gently put my hand on his arm. “It’s OK,” I said softly, “just take a minute.”
And we did. I sat and waited as he gathered his composure — two strangers in a tiny little room full of junk next to a petrol station, unseen by the rest of the world. Gradually, his story started to pour out.
His name was Aaron, and though he didn’t say it directly, it seemed to me he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. It seemed he’d always suffered from anxiety of some sort, but this somehow felt worse. His words implied his parents didn’t understand what was happening to him, much less himself.
He felt he didn’t know where to go or what to do. He described it as the ‘walls closing in,’ an expression I had used myself some years earlier when I was mentally going through a tough time as my business failed. Although this had been going on for months, he hadn’t sought any outside help despite his clearly supportive girlfriend urging him to do so.
fizkes | Shutterstock
I listened intently, feeling unqualified to do any more and scared that saying the wrong thing would worsen the situation.
He talked and talked, apparently relieved he could offload some of the weight.
As he did so, his shoulders straightened, and some of his confidence returned. The tears gradually slowed and then, finally, stopped.
I explained that he could go to his doctor and seek a referral to a specialist, which he was surprised to learn, but I was surprised he didn’t know. Realizing this was something I could do in a practical sense, I went online via my phone, found the local surgery where he had been registered all of his young life, and rang them there and then. He spoke to them first, but sensing they did not understand the urgency of the situation, nor was he confident enough to portray it, I took the phone, with his permission, and spoke to them directly.
After explaining, more or less, what had transpired, who I was, and my genuine concern for this young man, they agreed to an emergency appointment the following morning at the surgery. He would be assessed, and the appropriate advice or treatment would be offered. The relief on his face was palpable.
By now, we had been in that little room for some thirty minutes. When we emerged together, a queue of confused-looking people had formed in their cars behind my awkwardly parked vehicle. One of them had gone to get the boss, who was surprised to see me emerge from the storeroom with Aaron as he approached.
Seeing that the boss was angry and making a beeline for the vulnerable Aaron, I intercepted him. I quickly explained the problem in a vague, non-specific way but with enough clarity to convey the seriousness of the situation. He backed off, seeing Aaron as he was already removing the remaining cones (a little more carefully than the first two unfortunate victims) and resuming his position at the mouth of the car wash. As ‘the boss’ returned to the main building with my reassurances, Aaron beckoned me to power up the pre-wash pump.
I pulled up and waited inside as he blasted the car, watching him as he did so. He seemed a different man now despite never getting around to that cigarette.
The car wash conveyor engaged with my front wheels and pulled me in. As it did so, Aaron disappeared from view through soap suds and water spray. Once the process was completed and the machinery spat my car and me from the other end, I pulled forward a few feet and once again alighted from the car to look down the length of the car wash mechanism. Aaron was busy washing down the next vehicle.
I called out his name loudly and firmly, but he could barely hear me over the moving parts. He stopped what he was doing and looked up. I gave him the thumbs up, mouthed ‘OK?’ exaggeratedly, and accompanied the whole thing with a questioning nod.
There was a slight pause as he digested the question. Then, with a single movement, he gave a slow and deliberate thumbs-up with his right hand, which he raised high above his head.
For a brief second, the pose was reminiscent of the final freeze-frame shot of John Bender leaving The Breakfast Club in the film of the same name. My mind even added the soundtrack, ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ by Simple Minds, which was a lovely touch. I love it when my brain does stuff like that.
Then, he mouthed the words “Thank you” as clearly and as slowly as he could, and, for the first time, I felt I saw some relief in his face.
There was a short, lingering look between us, and then I jumped back in my car to clear the exit and find my way into the afternoon traffic, full of thought.
Weeks later, I was in the area and decided to call to see how he was doing. Another employee was busy spraying cars, and it seemed a world away since my encounter with Aaron had occurred.
fizkes | Shutterstock
The two still slightly bent cones were stacked neatly at the side, and the storeroom door was closed, now forbidden to me. I asked if Aaron was there and learned that he had recently quit for another job. From his demeanor, I deduced that this had been a decision he had made, and there appeared to be no ill will involved from either party. He’d moved on.
I never saw Aaron again, and, to be honest, I’m not sure I would recognize him now if I did. To this day, I sometimes wonder if he attended that appointment and found the help he needed, and I sincerely hope that was the case.
But I also learned something that day. I‘d replayed in my mind how differently that moment could have unfolded, and it terrified me.
What if I had given into my initial, blind anger caused by my certain but misguided belief that I was about to be taken advantage of?
Perhaps I would have pushed him over the edge, finally destroying what remained of his fragile state with my harsh words and aggressive stance.
It terrifies me to think about it and where it could have led.
It wasn’t out of the question that he could have done something really stupid and permanent. How often do we judge people or a situation based on what we feel or what we think we see and act according to those beliefs rather than the facts?
Human nature makes us like that, but we can override it if we take a moment — just a moment — to think outside of ourselves. Sometimes, we can make the most positive difference by giving nothing but a few minutes of time and attention.
I didn’t realize it then, but Aaron had given me the gift of understanding a little better, and I am forever grateful for it.
And I still hope that one day, I can thank him.
Jason Deane is a Bitcoin consultant, book author, Medium writer, speaker, and ex-racing driver. He has regularly contributed to many media outlets, including Forbes, The Guardian, MSNBC, and Newsweek, and is a regular guest on Bloomberg Business TV.