Four years ago, almost to the day, my son and I drove past a smartly-dressed woman limping along the pavement.
I had forgotten about her until this week, when we were hoping for rain, and cursing the clouds which broke into puffs of sunshine after a thunderous promise.
It was hot and dusty, instead, but we had air-conditioning on our way to wherever.
That day, we’d been on the opposite side of a narrow, busy road which becomes quite congested in the morning rush; so statistically, it was feasible that at least two motorists saw the limping woman.
Then only a toddler, son said: “That lady’s got nice hair and a big lawnmower.”
The “lawnmower” was a heavy-duty crutch and, while we live in a small village, it still takes time to get where one’s going on foot – and longer, if you’re leaning on a crutch.
Even worse when it’s raining because you’re more likely to slip which would result in needing two crutches.
The fact that nobody stopped – and they could have, given the sprinkle of wide driveways available – wasn’t that much of a shocker.
I see this almost daily: bedraggled women, men and children standing still as statues in the rain or pulsing sunshine waiting half-heartedly for a lift to town but not looking at all hopeful, since what are the chances, really?
What bothered me then was that she wasn’t unsettled by the fact that dozens of cars tootled past her and her very obvious crutch.
It’s difficult enough traversing the length of the village on two good feet but utterly exhausting to do it with only one good leg – and in the rain.
Still, she didn’t look up, or hook a finger to hitch-hike.
And when the youngest and I found a driveway, turned around and went back for her, she startled like a deer.
In fact, she didn’t realise at first that we might be stopping to give her a lift.
Once we’d got that out of the way – and bags, crutch and pedestrian into the passenger seat – she was happy smiles and surprised gestures of gratitude.
On the way to the physiotherapist, she said, as she explained her crutch story – had hurt her knee following an accident while being transported to work in a staff bakkie a few months ago.
They had operated, but it still hurt like hell and would take a long time to heal.
Meanwhile, she still needed physio, but wasn’t getting paid as her sick leave had run out.
A study was once conducted about how to encourage people to donate to charitable causes.
The results showed that it’s all about the person – we’re more likely to help others if we feel empathy for them; and that will more likely happen if we connect with a single person, rather than a group or a faceless cause.
I think that if every motorist driving past Lucy that day had known her story, she’d have been offered a lift several times over.
But because they were disconnected from her, seat-belted behind glass, it was easier – more practical and time-efficient even – to look straight ahead instead.
We could argue that hitch-hiking is dead. It’s too dangerous nowadays; we’re too busy to stop; we’d be fools as women to give lifts to men.
But perhaps we could start small.
Set a bit of a goal to lift someone reasonably “safe-looking” just once a month.
Because, if you’re going to be philosophical about it, consider that you might be carrying a crutch one day – and hoping feverishly that some boy and his mother are going to grab a minute from their diary to save you a walk.