My Good Samaritan Deed For The Day: Drive a Random Crackhead all over Creation So He Can Sell His Stolen Sh*t and Check Out Hookers

Late one night, over 20 years ago, as I was getting in my car to drive home, I noticed I was being approached by this skinny older guy who was desperately trying to make eye contact with me while rapidly approaching with an enormous duffel bag slung over his shoulder, like Santa Claus. I stopped to hear what he was going to ask me . . . . and also because I knew I couldn’t get in my car fast enough without looking like a complete dick. He said his car was nearby and he needed a jump. He asked if I could please please PLEASE find it in my heart to help him out. He’s a Christian, praise Jesus and he not out to hurt NO-BODY. I thought, sure . . . why not? He said his car was parked a block away and said we’d need to drive to it. Sure, Okay, I thought. He assured me he was not a criminal and he even offered to let me search his bag and pat him down to make sure he didn’t have any weapons. I said “oh, no. . . that’s okay, I believe you” but he held his bag open, so I glanced in and saw a bunch of CB radios. Like 15 to 20 CB radios. It was a like a 4ft tall army duffel bag full of radios and it weighed a ton. He threw them in the back of the car, and sat down in the front and I started driving towards 42nd & Main street. He said take a right on Main, I did. I’m lookin around for a car on the side of the road but there’s nothing and he’s sittin back, eyes closed, sayin “it’s just a little further. Just keeeeeeep on goin.” One block, two blocks, three blocks, ten and soon fifteen blocks. I ask “where’s your car, exactly?” and he says “just a little further, man . . . I swear!” That’s cool. He probably exaggerated how close his car was, just to get me to help him. Just a little white lie. I can empathize. At this point, we’re approaching downtown and he says “Hold on a sec, take a right here. . . I wanna see if my sister’s workin.” I’m thinkin “Oh great, maybe she’ll help him from here.” I see there’s nothing but prostitutes walking up and down the street and he’s eyeballing each and every one, muttering “Niiiiiiiiice . . . niiiiice. . . . Oooooh . . . Oooh, DAMN!.” I realize if I get pulled over by the police with him in the car, it would probably not look good and I would not sound credible in disassociating myself from him. I tell him we really need to find his car because I gotta feed my cats and I don’t want to be out all night. He says “oh yeah, sure, we almost there… take a left over hee’r and just keeeeep goin”. Pretty soon we’ve passed downtown and we’re crossing the river. At this point, I realize we’re not really looking for his car and I’m wondering why I’m still driving this guy? Maybe I should put an end to this. . . but I’m also wondering how far is this guy is going to push it? How far will we go? I know I can’t just pull over on a bridge and let him out. After a few more minutes, we wind up stopping in a really sketchy, run-down, white-trash neighborhood on the other side of the river somewhere. . . I have no clue where, and he says “Now I’m gonn go knock on this door ova’h here but PLEASE god ALMIGHTY, don’t leave me here! I’m beggin you! . . . Man, I’m SERIOUS. I don’t wanna be alone out here, black man in THIS neighberhood” but a part of me is thinking this might be a good chance to ditch him. He gets out and leaves his bag in my car as if he knows I won’t drive off with it or throw it out and drive off (and I wouldn’t, because that would be mean). He runs to the door, knocks, & talks to some fat, slovenly, half-asleep looking dude in a wife-beater and then comes back to the car and says we need to pull around to this trucking yard where the truckers are sleeping in their cabs. Then he’s running back and forth, knocking on truck cabs, trying to sell these CB radios to sleeping truckers. I’m just watching from the car, wondering if he’s a regular character in their lives or just some random weirdo they’ve never seen before, waking them up in the middle of the night with a bag of presumably stolen radios (can I even assume they’re stolen?). He comes back to the car with his bag and says we can head back. After passing through downtown, he holds a lighter up to a small metal tube and proceeds to smoke something that is completely smokeless & odorless but turns to me and assures me ” ‘isss . . .juss . . . tobacco. I swear.” I somehow doubt that. After a few puffs, he says I can let him out by the OSCO in mid-town and he asks if I can loan him $25, as if we will see each other the next day and he’ll give me my money back. I tell him I don’t have any money. He asks if he “can have just 15, man . . . jist. . .jist TEN. Ten dollars, man!” What a bargain! Apparently $10 is all he needs. I say sorry and he says “FIVE. FIVE dollars and I’ll be ON MY WAY.” So I guess it’s not even a “loan” now? I say “Sorry man, I’m like seriously broke” and he says “come on, now . . . help a brother out!” Here’s where it gets really embarrassing. I actually give him $5, after driving him ALL over town . . . I paid the crackhead to get out of my car and he leaves without another word. In fact, I actually saw him the very next day on the street and he asked me for money again, without any recognition of me or memory of our precious time together. Did he even remember it happened? Did he even have thoughts about it? or did he just have an objective and I was a thing that might help him towards it? Well anyways, that’s how stupid I am.