It’s 6:15 on a Saturday morning, and I find myself — for reasons not worth explaining right now — driving east down Madison Avenue in Albany. I’m approaching a green light at the intersection with Ontario when a woman walks up to me, waving.
I slow down. Roll down the window. Assess her quickly. She’s 60, maybe a little older, in a knit cap and ratty parka. She’s weeping.
“Please, ma’am. Please.”
Watch out, I say. It’s a green light. Cars are behind me.
“Please. I’ve been homeless. Please, ma’am.”
OK. OK. Give me a sec. I’ll pull over.
“Please pull over. Please.”
Yes, I say. Yes. I’m pulling over.
And so, nicking through the last second of green, I pull over and grub around in my bag for a bill larger than a one. It is now 6:16, and the coffee I poured down my throat 20 minutes earlier has not kicked in.
The weeping lady materializes suddenly at my window and, startled, I seize the nearest green thing in my wallet. As I do, she tells her story: She got kicked out of something somewhere. She’s been homeless for a few days. She’s desperate. It’s awful. Please, ma’am. Please.
OK, I keep saying. OK. OK.
And as I hand over the green thing, I realize it’s a twenty. She realizes, too. This time both of us startle, and our eyes lock for a moment over the crumpled note in her small right fist.
“Thank you,” she says.
OK. Do me a favor, and pray for my three kids, I say.
“And can you pray for five kids I know who lost their mom?”
“I will. I will.”
I roll up the window and pull away, asking myself the usual question: Was I just scammed? I answer it in the usual way: Probably. And then, toodling down Madison before sunrise, I conclude with the usual exercise in sequential logic.
A) She was telling the truth, and I’m out twenty bucks. Or
B) She was lying, and I’m out twenty bucks.
If the answer is A), all is well. If the answer is B), then either:
A) She was lying, but she says a prayer for eight kids, and I’m out twenty bucks. Or
B) She was lying, and doesn’t say a prayer for eight kids, and I’m out twenty bucks.
If the answer is A), that’s still a good outcome. If the answer is B), then either:
A) She’s lying, and she doesn’t pray for eight kids, but she reflects on the questionable morality of fleecing a woman at a traffic stop at 6:15 a.m., and maybe resolves not to do it again, and maybe she sparks with empathy for the children she’s asked to pray for, and maybe, later, she has a small but significant change of heart. And I’m out twenty bucks. Or
B) She does none of the above, and I’m out twenty bucks.
A) is, once again, a pretty good outcome. But the way I see it, B) isn’t a bad one, either. Not for me. Because, no matter what calculus I use, I’m still better off than some poor woman who’s so desperate for money that she wanders up to cars in motion on a dark street, asking for help.
I’d still rather be duped than assume the worst. I’d rather trust than not; and I’m no theologian, but I’m fairly certain that Jesus didn’t bleat “Are you scammin’ me, dude?!” at every leper and lost soul who approached him at a traffic light in downtown Jerusalem. The guy’s birthday is just a few days away, right?
And anyway, I’m only out twenty bucks.
8 thoughts on “so this lady walks up at a traffic light, and. . .”
I usually ignore such requests and admire your generosity.
My husband taught me that when you feel moved to give you are doing it for the right reasons. Even if you don’t know what those reasons are! If the person asking is doing it for the wrong reasons that fault is with them. You have made the better choice. You can never be wrong when you give for the right reasons.
You could have chosen to pull away, but you didn’t. There was a right reason.
“If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do. If you haven’t got a ha’penny, how about a double sawbuck?” Or something like that. I doubt you were scammed, Amy, and if you were, so what? Your point about JC is spot on, and your donation was a form of prayer too. And here’s another notion: By giving the woman $20 you were able to write about her. Not unlike paying an artist’s model. Fair’s fair. Merry Christmas!
Amen amen, and Merry Christmas back!
The story is special and describes what I go through when I give money. I tend to do it far more than I used to because, as you pointed out, they have to be worse off than me. The comments are wonderful too.
Amen on all counts.
Good for you Amy! Regardless of what happens to the $20 you did the right thing. I lived in Boston for many years and regularly gave cash to homeless people. Some were regulars and I’d give to them weekly. But I think more important than that I’d talk to them every time they approached me, whether I gave them money or not. Sometimes having another human being acknowledge you and have a conversation is far more important than the cash.
I agree, Denise. Those little human interactions matter so much. Not so little at all.