The one thing all men want in a woman...

I am a 30-smething, well-educated, reasonably successful man. A pretty good husband and father to boot. Even though I have been happily married to my college sweetheart for nearly ten years, I can't stop thinking about a chance encounter I had with Olga.

Today is the fourth Wednesday. The fourth Wednesday is the day I get my hair cut at the salon. Yes, I am a guy and I get my hair cut at a salon. Ernie, the owner of the salon, is our local "hair stylist to the stars". Ernie's a "dye" man. Celebrities come from all over to have Ernie "return" their hair to its "original" color. I go to Ernie because when he was first starting out he had evening hours that accommodated my work schedule. I have stayed with him more out of habit than anything else.

This story isn't about Ernie. In fact, I only mention Ernie because the ultra hip aura of his new salon seems so strangely juxtaposed against my first meeting with Olga.

Right after leaving the salon (this Wednesday just so happened to be the 3 year anniversary at the new and improved location), I decided to stop for a quick bite to eat on the way back to the office. I ended up in the drive-thru line at a fast food joint. Not the best of fare, but convenient for the drive back to the office.

While waiting to place my order I noticed a woman standing in the drive-thru lane. At first, I was miffed. I mean "what the hell is this lady doing? Is she an idiot? The drive-thru lane is for cars." Her name was Olga. I found this out as soon as I rounded the building towards "window 1".
Nothing to worry about here ladies. Olga was not physically beautiful in any way. Not the way you try to be. She hadn't been young and firm for many years - if ever at all. Yet, truth be told, I can't remember the last time a woman so thoroughly captivated me in the way that Olga did.

Actually, when I pulled around to the side window to pay I nearly hit Olga with my car. She had been leaning on a small shopping cart and almost didn't get out of the way in time. Almost. When she turned to face me I could just tell she had had a hard life. I don't know how old she was but she looked about 75, nearly twice my age. She was slovenly dressed. She was wearing an old, dirty tank top and no bra. This was evident because both of her breasts were exposed for all the world. Her shirt hung loosely from her thin frame betraying the secret that her clothes had not been washed in weeks.

The young girl at "window 1" yelled to Olga. "Olga, stand over to the side and leave the cars alone." Olga dutifully moved to the rear of my car. Olga was not somebody used to fighting back. I stared at Olga. I was unafraid that she would mind...as I said, she was not somebody used to fighting back.

I clumsily opened my wallet to pay for my meal and asked the young girl if I could buy Olga a lunch. "Naw", she said. "That's just Olga. She has a home. She's just not right in the head."
Fate? Luck? Who knows. When I opened my bag I realized that I had been given the wrong food. French fries instead of the onion rings I had ordered. I knocked on "window 2", and told a different girl about the mistake. Instead of exchanging onion rings for French fries she simply gave me the onion rings and told me to keep the fries.

I was still watching Olga in the rear-view mirror...if only to ensure I had time to roll up the window should she come to close. Actually, "gawking" is probably a more apt description. As I pulled away I felt strangely unsettled. Instead of turning right towards the street, I turned left and headed back around the building.

Here was this woman, so thin I can see her ribs...so thin that even her exposed breasts didn't titillate me. And now I have this extra order of French fries.
Even though it was the middle of a busy lunch hour there was a brief "lull" and the drive-thru was empty. By this time Olga had worked her way to the corner of the restaurant. She just kind of stood there.

My mind struggled with this for much longer than I'd like to admit here. An extra order of fries (free fries no less!) almost compelled me to reach out to this old lady. Yet my traditional, Midwestern, conservative background somehow restrained me. I wanted to be compassionate but I also secretly felt like a "nut" for approaching this lady. Would she think I am some kind of pervert? Would I offend her by offering her food....some weird implication that she couldn't take care of herself? Maybe I was crazy. After all, several others had seen her and they didn't feel compelled to intervene. I wondered if I should be more like them.
That scared me...was I already too much like them?
Our hero awakens.

In addition to the onion rings, I had purchased two hamburgers. I took one of the hamburgers and added it to the extra order French fries and drove over to where Olga was standing. I rolled the window down and simply said "I have been given extra food that I won't eat. Would you like it?" She smiled and timidly said "yes". Nothing more...no "thank you"...no "bless you"...just a quiet "yes". I mumbled something to the effect of "God bless you" and drove off.

No good deed goes unpunished. It soon dawned on me that it was nearly 80 degrees out and I had just given this homeless woman (yeah, like I am really going to believe the girl at "window 1" a sandwich and order of salty fries - with nothing to drink.

Hmm? I drove around the corner to a drugstore and bought a large bottle of cold water. I returned to the parking lot but Olga was gone.

I returned to the office but still couldn't shake Olga's memory. She was certainly sad...maybe the saddest person I had ever seen. What must her life have been like to end up like this? What had happened to her? Was she abandoned as a child? Was she brought into this world under the guise of a parental love so full of hope and promise...only to have her parents die when she was a small girl? Was she shuffled between foster homes? Did she just simply get knocked down one too many times? I don't know. I really don't.

For a long while I thought it was her sad state of affairs that kept Olga burning in my mind. But it's not that. It was never that. It was her simple grace in allowing me to help her. She simply said "yes". She had allowed me, for one brief moment, to ride in on a white horse. She was a real-life damsel in distress.

Not so odd, I guess. I have two small daughters at home and they both take after my wife. They're so independent. They convince the world that they can do anything and everything - on their own. Actually, that describes most women I know. I can't even remember the last time I met a woman that was secure enough to admit she could use a little help. And no, fixing the toilet and taking out the trash don't count.

For a brief moment I felt needed in a way that I haven't felt needed in a long time. By most of Society's standards Olga doesn't rate highly. By most traditional measures she barely qualifies as a woman. She's not beautiful. Not glamorous. Not sexy. Not independent. But she made me feel more like a "man" than just about any other woman I have ever met.