Held Prisoner in Hampton Roads

Dooce's Hypothetical question . . .

. . . reminded me of something that happened two summers ago.

As I was leaving a grocery store, I was approached by a young lady I'd guess to be about 35. She looked to be tired, and more than a little distressed. She told me she was embarassed to ask, but had spent her last money on food for her kids, but hadn't checked her gas gauge and was afraid she couldn't make it back home. She pointed to a beat-up old car. I could see a baby seat and some toys, but no kids were in the car.

Now, I don't give handouts to everyone who asks for them, but this lady's story just seemed believable. I gave her a ten, and she thanked me several times, and there was a tear in the corner of her eye.

After she left, another lady who had been watching decided to butt in:

Her: Boy, she really took you in.
Me: Pardon?
Her: How stupid can you be? She's just going to buy drugs with that.
Me: Maybe, but at least she isn't a nosy BITCH who can't mind her own business.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I saw the woman I gave the money to pulling up to a gas pump across the street. . .