Tuesday, March 16, 2004

I went to the newly opened Blues Bar with co-workers yesterday, gentle reader, and witnessed a spectacle of a woman in her late fifties, early sixties. One co-worker brought in a package, which the woman proceeded to grope drunkenly before he chased her off. Having been duly rebuked, she grabbed her coat and left the bar, only to return minutes later. While I have no idea why she came back, I do know she wandered behind the bar, sashayed into the back office, and finally ended up behind the bar again.

I’d like to tell you she did something whimsical, that she sang a ditty or danced a jig, but instead she helped herself to the tip jar. This jar wasn’t sitting out on the bar, mind you–it was right next to the register. The poor bartender, caught in a moment of supreme social awkwardness, finally succeeded in ejecting the wily woman from the premises.

What would you have done in this case? Perhaps you could visualize this better if I presented a more personal scenario, so here you go: you’re walking along the street when a woman in her late fifties plunges her hand into your trousers in a desperate bid to liberate your wallet. She doesn’t do it with the panache of a mugger or the subtlety of a pickpocket; she simply rams her hand into your pocket, no questions asked.

You could be violently angry: “Not in my pocket, wench! Here, I’ll pop the hood to my car and you can see if there’s anything in there. Yes, that’s right–while I’m driving at a modest 25 MPH.”

You could be neutral: “You just put your hand down my pants. Literally speaking. Can I help you?”

You could be the Good Samaritan: “There, there. You must have something on your mind. Why don’t we sit down, talk about it, and then you can sober up? I’ll get you a coffee. Hair of the dog and whatnot.”

Which one would I choose? The Good Samaritan option, of course. You know it.