Stranger danger
The perils of being a nice guy
BEN POGGEMILLER STAFF
I was on the way home from the Beach Boys concert after a night of geriatric surfer fun. I had just dropped off my girlfriend, and was headed home for the night. As I was nearing my street, I saw a bus off in the distance, rounding a bend up ahead. Behind it I saw a lone man in the middle of the street, running after it as hard as he could. I knew he was too far back to catch it. Once he realized that the bus wasn’t going to stop, he just stood in the middle of the street. It was a cold, dark night and I felt bad for him, but what could I do? I hoped that I could just drive around him and go home to my warm, cozy bed. He didn’t make it that easy for me. He saw me coming and he waved me down. I stopped and opened my window.
He yelled, “Hey, can you give me a ride?” In my mind I was thinking, “Sure, buddy. Who in their right mind would pick up a complete stranger?”
Strangely, my mouth didn’t feel the same way.
“How far do you need to go?”
“Just take me to the end of the street.”
I kept thinking, “No, no, NO! This is wrong!”
Maybe it was the desperate look in his eyes, or the way he stood, but I felt bad for him. He really wanted to catch that bus. In a move that surprised both of us, I said, “Sure, hop in.” He could hardly believe it. I unlocked the door and he got in. My mind was racing. “What have I just done? What’s going to happen?” He was obviously drunk, and I started to question my decision. We exchanged first names and I shook his hand. He was a young man, appearing to be in his mid-20s. His speech was slurred and his movement slow. I asked him where he was going, and he said he was going to see his daughter and her mother. I informed him that I could take him to the end of the street, and that was all. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.
He seemed appreciative for even a small token of kindness. As we approached the end of the street he blurted out, “I’ll give you 10 bucks if you take me to <insert his destination here>.”
It would only be a five-minute drive for me, so I said, “Keep it. I’ll take you there for nothing.” He was flabbergasted. How could anyone be so nice to a total stranger? I was asking myself the same question, cursing myself for picking this man up. I kept thinking to myself, “What if he has a weapon? What if he refuses to get out of the car when we get there?” The whole way there, he constantly commented on how thankful he was to have a ride and how nice I was, giving an unfamiliar person a ride in the middle of the night. He said he couldn’t wait to tell people that a guy named Ben from his neighbourhood stopped to help him when most people would just drive by.
“Just don’t make me regret it,” I chuckled nervously. He assured me that he would never do anything to make me regret my decision. As we approached his destination, he still seemed blown away by my kindness.
“Are you sure you don’t want 10 bucks?” he asked.
“No that’s okay.”
“Do you drink at all?”
“A little bit.”
“Want some of my tequila?” he offered as he pulled an open bottle out of his jacket. “It’s from Mexico.”
“No thanks, that’s all right.”
“Do you smoke?”
“No. Hey, well, we’re comin’ up to it, is here OK?”
He told me his address and said that if I ever needed anything, at any time of day, I could come to him for help. I shook his hand and he got out of the car. I locked the door immediately and finally felt relieved.
I know it was stupid and irrational. My brain was being rational but my heart wasn’t. Sometimes being nice isn’t always convenient or easy. Often, doing the right thing is far more difficult. Sometimes being generous and being naive are synonymous. Maybe what I did wasn’t the “right thing” per se, but I certainly don’t regret it. I also realize how close I could have come to seriously regretting it. One thing made it all worthwhile though. As he got out of the car he said:
“You’re a nice guy Ben. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Even though he was drunk, I knew he was being sincere and it meant a lot. I may never do something like that again but I’m glad I did it once. Oh, and another thing. Don’t let my mother find out, she doesn’t know.
