"Hero Training"
Mar. 4th, 2014 09:58 amOmaha and I were at the airport to pick up Kouryou-chan, who was returning from Rome on an intercontinental flight with her friends. We were looking forward to seeing just how exhausted she was. The airport was crowded, especially the space we were in, with gleaming escalators leading up from the bowels of customs to the reception level, and then across the platform ascending further to the promised release of taxis and parking. There were at least a hundred people standing around.
A woman fell down the escalator leading up. The escalator, fortunately, detected the sudden emergent shift in weight and froze, an alarm buzzer ringing loudly. To her enormous luck, she landed on her luggage rather than the sharp edges of the escalator itself, but she was upside-down and pinned down by the awkwardness of the position and her own substantial weight.
I ran toward the crisis. I was one of only two who did.
She insisted she was unhurt. She was extremely grateful for our help, and I ended up carrying her luggage up the escalator as the other fellow helped her reach the top flight and the skyway to the parking garage.
When I was taking CPR classes, they called that "hero training," the knowledge that if you're fit and capable, you should always run toward the crisis. You're in a position to help. Hero training was little more than the awareness that most individuals will assume the problem belongs to other people. People will just stand around and seek out social affirmation that something should be done, that someone else will take care of the problem.
A lifetime of living of with someone with epilepsy has only reinforced this training. I only wish I could apply it toward my personal life.
A woman fell down the escalator leading up. The escalator, fortunately, detected the sudden emergent shift in weight and froze, an alarm buzzer ringing loudly. To her enormous luck, she landed on her luggage rather than the sharp edges of the escalator itself, but she was upside-down and pinned down by the awkwardness of the position and her own substantial weight.
I ran toward the crisis. I was one of only two who did.
She insisted she was unhurt. She was extremely grateful for our help, and I ended up carrying her luggage up the escalator as the other fellow helped her reach the top flight and the skyway to the parking garage.
When I was taking CPR classes, they called that "hero training," the knowledge that if you're fit and capable, you should always run toward the crisis. You're in a position to help. Hero training was little more than the awareness that most individuals will assume the problem belongs to other people. People will just stand around and seek out social affirmation that something should be done, that someone else will take care of the problem.
A lifetime of living of with someone with epilepsy has only reinforced this training. I only wish I could apply it toward my personal life.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-05 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-07 03:30 pm (UTC)As the doors slammed shut, I heard a plaintive cry of "Izvinitye!" ("Excuse me!") about 50 yards down, toward the tail end of the train. A little old man had fallen on the platform and gotten one leg stuck in the doors. The train started to pull out. Those trains accelerate very fast -- in seconds the train would be going 50 miles an hour, the old man would be smashed against the wall of the tunnel and his leg would be ripped off. His flailing body might take out several other people on the platform along the way.
I began screaming "STOP! STOP!" in Russian and I pounded on the outside of the train to try to get the driver's attention. The train went a few yards and stopped, and in the meantime two men successfully wrestled the old man's leg out of the door. The train immediately took off again.
But of the hundreds of people on the platform watching this happen, nobody else did a fucking thing. They just stared, mouth agape, at the unfolding tragedy, and then, when it was over, at me, for being so peculiar as to raise my voice and bang on the wall of a train.
no subject
Date: 2014-03-08 12:58 am (UTC)How interesting. I'd like to see the code for this - the detectable force must vary a lot in normal use and you really don't want to suddenly stop one in use without very good reason.