Twice whilst I was engaged in pitching a tent, three handsome, strong, virile young men came running over, unbidden, to help.
First time at the beach in Galveston: as my friend, Pam (an engineer, by the way) and I, set upon setting up her beach shelter, three young thirty-something men appeared to help. We were indeed struggling a little due to the breeze off the gulf. Mission accomplished, and they returned to their camp, with our profuse thanks.
The shelter, by the way, was unlike a tent. The "roof" was a separate structure from the side poles. The shelter walls were gauze-like screens that could be tied to the poles out of the way. Due to the constant breeze from the gulf, we double guyed the front poles and did not guy the rear. Heavenly, enjoying the ocean breeze from the comfort of that shelter. (Coincidence that the stabilizing ropes are called "guys"? I think not.)
Second time was at my favorite campground, Oakdale Park, in Glen Rose, Texas. Although I've set up my tent many times solo, I was delighted when three fellows in their mid-30s from a neighboring campsite ran over to my campsite to help. "Don't even try to talk us out of it," one said.
The tent went up in less than five minutes. Thanks, guys, and they returned to their site. I offered to return the favor as they were striking their own camp the next day, but they demurred.
In neither case were we damsels in distress, but, hey, it worked for a moment.