Plugged In: To Be or Not To Be?

I growled in frustration as I tromped up the street, shoving my lifeless iPod back in its pocket. I had forgotten to charge it. Again.

When I made the decision to bring my iPod with me while I studied abroad, it was meant to be used to entertain me during long traveling times, which, when I was in a music mood, would include the 25 minute walk to the Academic Center. Really, sometimes you just need music, for whatever the reason. I get it. I'm a product of the 21st century too.
But you never know what you'll miss when you're plugged in.

" 'ahts arhllie noice cawh," commented the older gentleman who fell back to walk beside me on my way to school.
"Sorry.... what was that?" I asked, completely lost. What language was this guy speaking?
"T-at's a really nice car," he said again, this time with a thick Irish accent, pointing to a shiny black jaguar parking on the side of the road in front of us. "T-at's tha t-ird one I've seen..... different colors." I smiled and nodded, understanding only two-thirds of what he was saying. Whoever told you they speak the same language in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales as they do back home lied to you.
Thank God for body language - the universal language. I smiled and nodded.
"All the cars here are so well maintained," I replied, somehow concerned he wouldn't understand me. "Back in the States, people don't keep them this nice."
The mans eyes lit up. "You're from the States, are yah?"
It's true what they say about the Irish. They all have family members in the states - and they're happy to tell you all about them. Boy, did I open up a can of worms.
"I've got a cousin, and two sisters, and a brother over there. My brother lives... "
I smiled at the man, listening to him talk about his family, about how they were coming to visit, about how he used to live in Canada, and how he hated the snow so much that he refuses to even watch t.v. shows with them. In the corner of my mind, I was concerned about being late for class, as I had slowed my pace to match his gait, but we parted ways shortly after meeting.
"I'm stopping here Miss, to stop and look at some paintings."
"It was nice meeting you!" I called over my shoulder as I hurried on towards the Academic Center.

Was it direly important that I stopped to talk to that man? Would the world have ended if I had been listening to my iPod? Surely not. But did it make a difference in my life? Yes, I would say it did.
I am fairly certain I will never meet that man again, or that I wouldn't even recognize him if I did, but I'll remember him, for his friendliness, and his stories, and how talking to a complete stranger lit up his face. And I can only hope that I brought a moment of joy or company to his life for that brief period of time. And maybe this weekend, when his sister and cousin comes to visit him from the States and they're eating the cakes he made them, he'll tell them about this nice American girl he met on the street, who he talked to about cars, and Canada, and snow.
What would have happened, say, had I ignored him, or been really rude and stormed off? What would he have remembered then? I could tell you stories about people who used to come into the grocery store I worked in during highschool who either made or ruined my day.
I remember this one young couple who had relocated to Maine after Hurricane Katrina that came through my line a dozen times or so over the course of several months. In those few brief meetings, I learned they had relocated to Maine two years ago, that they were finally starting to feel at home, and, during their last few trips into the store, that they had to return to Lousiana for extrenuating circumstances.
But two days before they headed back to Louisiana, they came in just to see me, not only to say goodbye, but to give me the good news - they had just gotten engaged. The woman couldn't wait to tell me - I was one of the first people she told. I remember her reaching her shaking hand across the register and putting it in mine, the diamond gleaming despite the horrible flourescent lights.
I don't know why I was the first person to know. Maybe they had a hard time finding friends here in Maine. Maybe after the disaster, they had grown away from their family down in the South. And I don't know why the woman confided in me when she came through my line, telling me about how hard it was to have relocated. Maybe she just needed a stranger who wouldn't judge her to listen for a few minutes. Maybe me listening for a few minutes every few weeks made her life a little bit easier. I don't know, and I never will. I can hope so though.
Today, I can't remember their names, but I will always remember them, the kindness they always showed to me, what they looked like, and most importantly, the happy glow on her face that shown through the constant sadness in her eyes as she celebrated her life with a complete stranger.

It's amazing the effect we can have on the randomest people.
And I urge you to remember that, especially when you're traveling to a foreign country.

How do you want to be remembered?