The Good Samaritan…Or Not

Last night, as I wended my way home, I noticed a crush of traffic on all the roadways. The Pike was a parking lot, and 84 was at a virtual standstill. Even where I live, on Rte. 15, the road was congested.

I turned into my driveway, thankful to have only had to drive two miles. As I got out of the car I noticed the snaking line of vehicles waiting for the light to change. I couldn’t help but wonder if some folk, hidden behind darkened windows, were envious of me, knowing that I had arrived home and that perhaps their own journey home had hardly begun.

I thought about that as I turned the key and entered my warm house. I cradled a six-pack of beer and, as I began to place it in the fridge, couldn’t help but think where all those cars were heading, how far they had to travel, how far they had already gone, and wondered what time they would get home.

I poured a beer into a glass stein and went into the living room and sat near my Beloved, with Andi, our dog, between us. Julie was watching one of our shows on HGTV, and as I sat there rubbing her feet and occasionally taking a swig, my mind kept going back to those cars outside, those dark interiors,  cars harboring husbands and wives and kids and pets, and I felt sorry for them.

Here I was at home. Home! Sometimes that one word can be such a comfort, a balm to nerves harried from holiday travels.

Now this is where the title to this post comes in. Thinking about being a Good Samaritan, I turned to Julie and said, “Wouldn’t it be a nice gesture if we made a big batch of chocolate chip cookies and a few pots of coffee and brought them out to the poor people who were trapped and tired in their vehicles?”

Julie looked at me and replied, “You’re right. That is a good idea.”

Did we get up and rummage around for an errant Tollhouse cookie roll in the fridge? Did we open the pantry and retrieve a new bag of ground coffee? No. And why didn’t we do that? I’ll tell you why. And it is a sad commentary on our present society. See if you agree with me.

As I mentioned earlier, as I exited my car and ascended the two flagstone stairs to my front door, I imagined that there were more than a few eyes watching me, envious that I was home, that soon the door would close behind me and I would disappear into the warm, safe confines of my residence.

They, however, would be held captive in a box with four wheels, miles from their respective destinations, captured by gridlock and the whims of holiday traffic.

And perhaps maybe a few pair of eyes out there on the road would harbor some sort of ill will towards me, an unfounded and perverse resentment,  all because they noticed I was home, free from the constraints of a car and more miles ahead.

‘Lucky bastard,’ a father would think, while his wife slumbered and his two kids bickered in back.

As much as I would have liked to be that ‘good Samaritan’, I knew that it would not be prudent. Why? Because of our society, how there could be that one bad apple who, after my generosity of warm cookies and a steaming vessel of healing joe would—maybe—come back one day and wonder what was inside our centuries-old farmhouse. The good deed for the day by me would have been replaced by a nefarious scheme by that one person who had scarfed my baked goods and drank my hot coffee. This person might come back, not for cookies or freshly brewed coffee, but for you. Or your wife.

That is why I remained on the couch with Julie and Andi and watched TV. As much as I wanted to go out there with fresh, warm platters of chocolate chip cookies and pitchers of piping hot caffeine, the thought of some wacko returning one day to wreak havoc upon my household dissuaded me from doing so.

So. Was I wrong to think such things? Is our society that bad right now, where one cannot possibly be a good Samaritan? Do you ever think about such things, that you would like to do more for people, but cannot fathom doing so because of the possibility of a lone nut job coming back to harm you and your family?

Am I way off-base here? Do you think I’m too paranoid? Would you have gone out there, in the cold, to assuage the distressed?

I wonder.

The HGTV shows continued, and I drank a few more beers. Julie eventually went to bed. I let Andi out to pee and as I waited for his return, I couldn’t help but notice that traffic on 84 had still not abated, and the line of traffic at the end of my driveway had still not dwindled.

I let Andi back in, directed him to his ‘room’ upstairs, and stood in the kitchen, sipped my beer and watched the cars inch along.

I know just by thinking about being the good Samaritin doesn’t mean squat-diddly. But I must ask this question:

What would you have done?

©Paul Grignon, 2013-All Rights Reserved.


7 responses to “The Good Samaritan…Or Not

  1. I am that person who gives out cookies and hot coffee. (well, never hot coffee but pulled over for stranded people etc.) I open carry a flashy .38 revolver at my side. Open carry is legal in the state of Washington without permit, and though I do have a concealed carry permit, I open carry to make a point to those who would come and take my things.

    Very few have commented on it, and I have helped many, many people.

    • Hello, Andrea~

      Well, I suppose that staring down the barrel of a .38 would dissuade anyone from attempting to loot your wares. Good for you for helping people in need, but it remains a sad commentary that an ‘open carry’ might be necessary in order to help those less fortunate.

      Take care, and thank you for reading and replying to my post. I appreciate it.


  2. Honestly, I am the kind of person who would want to give out cookies and coffee but would not because if I were on the side of that – if I were a person sitting in my car and some stranger came up and offered me cookies and coffee – I would immediately be cautious and think there had to be an alternative reason for their offer. I would suspect the cookies of having some terrible ingredient in them or the coffee of the same.

    • You know, I didn’t think about that angle at all, but you are quite right. Very astute observation, I must say. I suppose I, too, would be hesitant to roll down the window (do windows still do that?) and accept a beverage and treat from a complete stranger who suddenly materialized out of the gloom.

      Good point there. Thank you for bring that to the table. It reminds me of the time I used to work in corporate dining and, at the end of the day, there would be a lot of muffins and pastries left over. I would then bring them to my second job where, during my break, I would go about Harvard Square in Cambridge, MA and attempt to hand them out to homeless people. I had no takers. I surmise that they, too, harbored notions that said foodstuff was laced with anthrax spores.

      Thank you so much for not only stopping by but to comment as well. And yours was indeed a valid and insightful take on my post.

      Take care, Paul

        Paul Grignon Artist/Writer/Model/Mentor Blog LinkedIn!/paulgrignon1

  3. Dear Paul,

    First off, glad that you returned home safe and found time to spend with Julie (and Andi).

    Yes, that was a lovely thought and it’s a pity that we sometimes weigh against the downside, and don’t relish the ‘spin-offs’. It does say something about the society that has evolved.

    Beat yourself not over such thoughts – perhaps, none in the snaking queue even gave a hoot about you. Perhaps, after downing your hot coffee – half an hour later, the occupants would end up searching for a toilet and silently curse for having taken that coffee.

    “God, I wish that guy and his wife had not offered that coffee. But it seemed like a good idea back there.”

    Last year, from my apartment I spied the local sweeper – one of thousands from the impoverished country of Bangladesh who flock to Singapore – whose task was to sweep and discard the rubbish and leaves from the gardens and surroundings. It was the holiday season and I felt sorry for him – being away from his loved ones.

    In all spontaneity, I suggested something to Lisa, which, the kind soul that she is, found ready acceptance. She packed several small plastic boxes of rice, thick chicken gravy, vegetables and all the dishes we’d prepared for our family dinner – my children were home and it was ‘the’ dinner of the year for us.

    Add to this several cans of beer and I brought the warm meal down to the man. He was thankful and received our offerings with broad smiles.

    Then, the problems started.

    He started knocking on our apartment door, asking for little favours. Too many and trivial to recount, but it became a nuisance. I told him in clear terms that I do not wish for him to come knocking, especially during times when I was not in.

    After his contract lapsed, he left for Bangladesh. We have a new sweeper – also from Bangladesh – and I’ve not offered him anything other than smiles and pleasantries.

    The holiday season is upon us – again. Decision time nears.

    All good wishes, my friend,

  4. I nominated you for a Dragon Loyalty Award! Check out my post for more info:

  5. Hello!!

    And thank you for the nomination. Totally unexpected, but much appreciated. Thank you!

    I loved #’s 2, 3, and 4. I could be browsing a supermarket and come across a product I would never buy and peer at the tiny print and wonder just who would purchase such a horrible product.

    I, too marvel at the majesty of Mt. Everest. But I’d rather watch a documentary on it from the comfort of my couch instead of going there. Brrr!

    Yes, pencils and paper! Or a really good pen with a fluid, rolling tip. Just something about a legal-size pad and the possibilities!

    Thank you again for thinking of me, and kudos to you as well.

    with much gratitude,
    Paul 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s