I met my friend Chris from work at a piano bar in the Pioneer Square neighborhood of Seattle a few weeks ago. It was around 9 or 10 p.m. and I had never been to that part of town at night before. Let me tell you, that is one shady place. There are a lot of homeless people there. It doesn’t feel comfortable to linger outside.
I parked my car a few blocks from the bar. I crossed a street, and saw an ATM nearby. I needed more cash, but it didn’t seem safe to use it. I debated whether to risk it. No one was close by at the moment. I waited another minute, then hesitantly approached the ATM. I noticed out of the corner of my eye someone crossing the street as I had and coming toward me. I slowed and diverted a little from the ATM, pretending that I had just been meandering. It was a man a little older than me. He was muscular, tattooed, and he wore a white wife beater. He approached me and rambled about getting out of jail and trying to get somewhere and needing money. I was alarmed and wanted extricate myself immediately, but he had already been talking for half a minute, and I couldn’t figure out how to disengage him. Finally, out of desperation, I gave in and handed him my only twenty-dollar bill. The relief was almost palpable as I walked away. Fortunately, there was an ATM at the bar.
While I was listening to him, I wondered whether it was true, and I realized that I had no way to verify his story, and that I didn’t know whether prisoners were given some means of using transportation when discharged. If he was honest, he sure picked the worst possible time and place to ask someone for help. Since so many alarm bells were going off in my head, I should have followed my instincts and walked away. Now I know that if I stop walking in those areas, I open myself up to experiences like this one. I want to be kind to strangers, but not when I feel uncomfortable about it, and not when I suspect I’m being scammed.