I took an aging black woman to the emergency entrance of UC Hospital. I pulled as close as I could to the doorway, just as I had done a dozen times before, and walked around to help her out of the back seat.
A large black cop came over and told me that I couldn't park there. I'd have to move it to the other side of the parking lot – 50 yards away.
"But she can hardly walk," I told him, "she came here because her legs are bothering her."
"Can't you read the sign?" he said pointing to a "No Parking" sign.
"Yes of course," I said, "but I'm just dropping her off. I'll take 2 minutes."
"Do you always ignore signs?" he asked sarcastically.
"Everybody ignores that sign – these are sick people. They need to get into the hospital." I heard my voice rising. I took a breathe and quieted down. "Listen – if you'd have let me do my job, I'd already have her inside."
"Don't get smart with me," he snapped. "Move it right now or I'll give you a ticket!"
"I never heard of nuthin' like this," he woman said sitting halfway out of the back door. "They always let me in here before."
The cop looked at her for the first time and mellowed a little.
"I'm sorry, mom, but the rule are the rules."
"Ain't no rules like this before," she said.
I drove the car and parked across the lot.
"I can't walk that," she said.
"Don't worry," I told her, "I'll get you a wheel chair."
There weren't any wheel chairs available so I went over and got in the cop's face. I mean I was a couple of inches away from his face but I was calm and polite. I just kept on saying over and over again,
"The lady is old and sick. She can't walk. There are no wheel chairs. I have to get her into the hospital. I need to park near the door."
He kept on telling me that the rules were the rules. But I wasn't leaving until I had her inside the hospital. I kept on saying the same thing over and over again. And he kept telling me about the rules.
I noticed an expensively dressed Hispanic man watching us. As I continued arguing with the cop, the man's expression became one of increasing wonder and disbelief.
A subtle change took place in the cop. He gradually came down from his power trip and began to soften. I could see that he wanted to help the woman but he was stuck with his rules. I had an inspiration.
"What'da say we carry her?"
He thought about it for a minute, then with sudden enthusiasm said,
"Yeah. Yeah. Let's do it."
We were about the same size and she weighed only about 120 pounds. The cop and I crossed arms and locked hands. The woman rode on our forearms into the hospital.
"Just like Angel's wings," she said.
The cop and I traded high-fives and parted like old friends.
The Hispanic man wanted the taxi but he couldn't speak English. We communicated in my butchered Spanish. In an Agentinian accent, he told me he wanted to go downtown. Perfect. An ideal ride.
The meter said $18 when he arrived. He handed me a fifty dollar bill. Clearly a mistake.
"Demasiado much," I told him, holding the fifty in my left hand while I brought out a twenty with my right, "vente es bueno."
He pushed the fifty back into my fist and folded his hands over mine. He gave me a warm smile and a look of gratitude.
"Es perfecto," he said, "muy muchas gracias."
I guess they don't argue much with cops down in Argentina.
The End
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