Bad karma, part II
The gods must be testing me. Again (see April 7 entry), I was placed in position to help a fellow human being, and once more I displayed a complete and utter lack of empathy. Two mornings ago, crossing Yellowstone Boulevard on my way to work, I heard a crash in the street behind me. I turned around and saw an attractive, shaken young woman awkwardly kneeling in the middle of crosswalk, scooping up lipsticks, eyeliners, and other purse flotsam. The exhalations of the the idling cars seemed like smoke signals sent up from impatient drivers … would … this … person … please … just … get … the … helloutoftheroad! I took a step towards her, my arm reaching forward, then I stopped, turned on my heel and walked away. My first thought was "Crap! I did it again. More blog fodder." Next, the rationalizations started: she didn’t look hurt, she was just about finished picking up her things, she would have refused the help of a stranger anyway, and so on. Then the angry axioms: you get what you deserve when you wear spiky heels, those who can’t cross the street without falling down are doomed to a life walking in circles, etc. Then the lamebrain fantasies: no doubt, she was just the bait in an elaborate trap to mug me . Yeah, that’s the ticket — three of her thug friends were probably waiting nearby, ready to pounce on my altruistic ass. Truth is, I don’t know why I didn’t at least ask her if she was okay and offered my assistance. Maybe I’ve been infected with some sort of airborne Calvinism — you’re on the ground because you deserve it (now, deal!). Fine, God, I’ll work on my spontaneous responses to human suffering. I just pray that I’m not being punk’d.
