Helping the proverbial little old lady cross the street.

She wasn't actually crossing the street, but rather the Home Depot parking lot.

As I was nearing the entrance of Home Depot, two elderly women were exiting. As they turned left towards where I assume their vehicle was parked, the elder of the two caught her foot on a raised jagged crack in the sidewalk. And down she went. Hard.

I think she may even have lost consciousness momentarily as her head smashed against the concrete. As I offered to call 911, her friend and a young man who followed them out of the store were talking with the woman, asking if she was okay etc. I don't think she had any idea where she was or what way was up for a while.

It took the three of us to hoist her to her feet and by that time a small crowd had come to assist, including a few employees. (Which is more employees than I have ever seen offer to help anyone. You can be sure next time I am wandering aimlessly looking for something or someone to help me, I'm just gonna trip over something and lay on the floor)

One gentleman helped her wipe blood off her face while we ushered her towards a nearby garden bench. He was not wearing an orange apron, but I'm certain he was a supervisor or something. The entire time he was talking with the woman in a way one would comfort a young child, "You're gonna be okay. You have a small cut. Let's clean this little bump up for you. Okay, there you are. You have a small bonk there ...." He stopped short of offering to kiss it better for her. I'm sure the entire time he had the word lawsuit bouncing around in his head.

Seeing she was being cared for and there was not much more for me to do, I continued on in my shopping quest.

I found some paper towel to wipe off the blood she got on me but I could not shake the feeling that I had to get home and wash this stranger's blood off me. I was afraid to put my hands anywhere near my face.

And of course the entire incident kinda shook me up a bit. So much so that when I went to get house numbers to put on our new mailbox, I could not remember my house number. We've lived here for four years!

"I'll just look at my driver's licence," I thought. Good thinking. Except that I had changed purses a week or so ago, and aparently I forgot to transfer my driver's licence. I did manage to find my recent paycheque with my address on it.

After getting home and cleaning up, I commented on Facebook about the incident. My mom comforted me by assuring me that the elderly woman probably didn't have any scary blood-transferred deceases. Then my daughter piped in and explained the reality of rampant decease in seniors homes.

It's sad what our world has come to when you can't help a little old lady without feeling all creeped out by it. And if I die of some communicable decease, please hunt down the elderly "Marie" who is surely going to receive a nice little settlement package from Home Depot.