My wife actually did this. About a year ago, but still.
She went to dinner at Max Burger in West Hartford, CT with our two children, a friend, and his two daughters.
I was working. Our friend’s wife was out of town.
As the waitress brought over drinks, she spilled an entire glass of wine on our then four year-old daughter, Clara.
Clara was understandably upset.
Elysha took Clara to the car, hoping to find an extra set of clothes. She left our one year-old son in the restaurant with our friend and his two children.
She left her phone inside as well.
She found no extra clothing in the car. Clara was upset. She didn’t want to return to the restaurant soaked in red wine.
Elysha was worried. At the time, our son was seriously attached to her, often crying when she left the house. How was he behaving in this strange restaurant with a man he hardly knew?
Possibly wailing, Elysha thought.
And yet our daughter, covered in wine, was also wailing. Elysha didn’t want to bring her back into the restaurant dripping with wine, but she couldn’t leave her in the car, either.
And she had no way of communicating with our friend.
What to do?
Simple. Walk a block to a residential street. Knock on the door of a complete stranger. Ask that complete stranger for a plain, white tee-shirt that our daughter could wear so they could reenter the restaurant and retrieve our son.
The stranger obliged.
The only shocking thing about this story is that we weren’t having brunch with that stranger on the following Sunday.
My wife befriends just about every person she meets.
She must’ve been in a big rush.
