How a Zsa Zsa changed my day

The Column: 02.21.25

I wound up my southern tour in Key West, stayed at an 1836 manse on Truman Street, awoke at 4 a.m. for the flight to Atlanta, then to New York. Stood out on the porch and heard a rooster crowing. The plane, a 737, took off at 7 a.m. The pilot locked the brakes tight, revved up the engine to full power, released the brakes, and we rocketed down the runway and got liftoff with about 90 feet of runway to spare. Exciting. I forgot my belt at TSA security in Key West and hiking through the vast Atlanta airport, trying to manage two bags while keeping my pants from falling down, I probably looked helpless because a young woman pushing a wheelchair stopped and asked if I was okay. I said, “Yes, but I lost my belt and my pants are falling down.”

She was delighted. “I’ve seen that type of thing before,” she said. She hung one bag on the back of the chair, I sat in the seat and held the briefcase, and she got me on the “plane train” to the T Concourse and a men’s store and I bought a belt, then back on the train to Concourse B to catch my flight to LaGuardia. This was my first time ever being pushed in an airport wheelchair; walking in airports is my main exercise. The woman’s name was Zsa Zsa and she was a delight, she called out “Hello, sweetheart” to other wheelchair pushers, she sang out “Chair coming through!” to clear a path onto and off of trains, she called me “Darling,” she said “How’s your day going?” to anyone who looked downcast and suddenly their day improved. She was joy on wheels, and it was illuminating to see how a joyful demeanor and radical courtesy can be a weapon to triumph over the passive aggressions and bad attitudes in public places — you simply couldn’t help but love the woman. She left you no other choice.

I said, “Your mama named you Zsa Zsa because she wanted you to be somebody special and believe me, you exceeded all expectations.” She laughed and set my bags down, wished me a good day and meant it. She didn’t hold out her hand. I’d never taken a wheelchair before and had no idea what to give her so I handed her five twenties and said, “You made my day” and we parted ways.

I come from dour northerners, wary of strangers, defensive, formal, but my pusher lady gave me a lift that lasted for days and sticks with me still even as the tycoons appear to have our government firmly in their grip — did Harry Truman ever sit silently in the Oval Office while J. Paul Getty conducted a press conference five feet away? No, he did not. Tycoons travel by private jet with security men and are met by limos and never encounter a genuinely joyful person like Zsa Zsa, which may explain some of their cruelty.

I came home and got some clue as to Bezos, Musk, Zuckerberg & Company, all cursed by insatiable greed: they can never have enough. I spent an hour online trying to cancel an old credit card on which I was still getting charges though I haven’t used it for years. The website was an elaborate maze that made it impossible to cancel. I called the 800 number and got involved with a robotic voice that read directions very rapidly as if it were talking to another computer and not to a human being. Eventually by pressing zero over and over I got shunted off to a human woman. She seemed human though she was trying to sound mechanical. She kept saying that I must call the providers to cancel recurring charges.

I explained that I don’t have their phone numbers. She repeated the directions. I repeated my explanation. Again, directions. Explanation. Mild dementia ensued. I wasted an hour, accomplished nothing, and so will go on paying money to providers who don’t provide anything that I am aware of though my awareness is dulled by the hour of insanity.

This is the world we find ourselves in and in this world Zsa Zsa shines like a beacon. Be joyful, folks. We have a satirist president with a joke Cabinet and a majority party with its pants around its ankles. We’d rather see them than be them. Keep the faith.

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