Choose the Right, don't you know

I met Bob on the flight from SL to Boise. I was going home after two weeks away. He was going to work.

At first I judged him to be someone who did not want an old woman sitting by him, let alone talking to him for the hour flight. But after I got settled in, I said, "Hello."

And we talked. I told him where I had been; he told me of trips he has taken with his son. And when I heard him say Peru, I said, "?Habla espanol?" He did. So we talked in Spanish a while. Some time later I learned his last name is Garcia.

Turns out he liked talking to me and had many stories. One story involved a visit he and his son made to Barcelona.

"I got pick pocketed," he said. "Couldn't wait to get out of there."

But they took his wallet and passport, so he was in trouble. Here's how they did it. Two guys. One hit Bob in the leg, near the knee, and the other hit him in the thigh. Hard hits. He crumbled. Then they simply ripped open his pocket--the kind on the side of the pants about halfway down the thigh--and took everything.

Very painful and very quick.

He and his son called for help and were told they must go to the American Embassy. Turns out, they were not the only Americans there and not the only ones trying to get help with stolen wallets and passports. This promised to take hours, at least.

Then Bob looked at the hand of the guy helping him and saw a CTR ring.

"Are you LDS?" Bob asked.
"Yes."
"So am I."
"Come with me," and he took Bob through the system in short order. Happy ending. He was issued a new passport on the spot. Others had to wait hours and days.

But, no, he didn't get his own papers, credit cards, or money back.


Good story, though, huh.