One of these days I will learn to shove down the urge to help people. It isn't something I brag about, because if you commit a good deed with the sole intent of crowing about it, what's the point?
I walked out of my apartment building and across the street, a man about my age moved slowly toward his car while clutching a 25-plus inch TV. All the rear car doors were closed, so I asked if he wanted help.
Actually, all the rear car doors were locked and when I ran around to the front to unlock them from the door console, I of course locked them all by just blindly punching at the button, and the man went for his keys.
Then, a massive crash, a plume of dusty glass and television components scattered on the sidewalk.
For a second we stood there and said nothing, then I apologized for the bad luck that came attached to my offer of help.
"That's alright, homey. It was my fault. I dropped it."
I apologized a few more times, and he said not to worry as he went back inside to finish his move.
I, however, ran all the way to Kroger anyway in case he and his friends changed their minds.
Only while running did I look down to see my left hand freckled with tiny cuts from bits of glass. It took all of 30 seconds to spin around my thoughts of helping people.
Poor help isn't really help at all. Sure, he might have dropped the TV anyway without a supervision, but it sticks in my gut a little.
Samaritan urges, stay in the shallow end for a while. Really.
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