Pretty Little Scammers

There seems to be a universal law that says if you help enough people, eventually someone is going to make you regret it. The question isn't whether it will happen. The question is what you'll do afterward.

Years ago, I was leaving Walmart in North Dakota with my three kids when we saw a man in a wheelchair outside the store. He was a double amputee wearing a veteran hat and jacket, and he had Walmart bags hanging all over the back of his chair. The bags were rubbing against the wheels, making it difficult for him to move. He stopped me and asked if I had a permanent marker. I didn't. He asked if I would go buy him one. I politely told him no. I wasn't going back into Walmart with three kids in tow. Then he asked if I would at least help him cross the street. The direction he pointed happened to be the direction of my car anyway, so I agreed. With my kids holding hands beside us, we started pushing his wheelchair across the parking lot. Between the bags, the chair, and the incline, it was harder than I expected. Then halfway across the road, right in front of the entrance cameras thankfully, he suddenly started yelling. He threw himself from the wheelchair and began screaming that I had dumped him in the road.

He cursed. He yelled.

My kids froze. I froze.

A couple of men nearby had seen the entire thing happen. One calmly helped him back into his chair and motioned for me and my children to step back. Another man approached us afterward and explained that this was apparently something the man did regularly. He would accuse people of hurting him and threaten lawsuits. He assured us we were okay.

The cameras had seen everything. Then he told us something that bothered me far more than the incident itself. "Don't help him again." I understood what he meant. But I hated hearing it.

Because that's the problem with people who weaponize kindness. They don't just hurt one person. They make everyone else a little more afraid to help the next person.

Fast forward several years and several states away. I was leaving Walmart in Colorado on my way to see my boyfriend when I saw an older woman standing in the parking lot with a five-gallon bucket full of roses and carnations. She looked tired. Fragile. Bundled up against the weather. Her sign said: "These flowers feed my children. Please help."

I figured why not? I'd buy my boyfriend flowers just because. Honestly, I thought it was kind of sweet.

I only had a twenty-dollar bill, so I asked if she could break it for two flowers. With English that was clearly not her first language, she smiled and said yes. She handed me four roses and a carnation. I thanked her and asked for ten dollars back, telling her to keep the rest.

Instead, she smiled and explained that the flowers I was holding were twenty dollars.

All of them. Thank you. There I sat at a stop sign with cars behind me trying to argue the economics of Walmart parking lot flowers with a woman whose English wasn't great and whose sales strategy was apparently exceptional. Eventually, I gave up. I drove away and delivered what were, without question, the most expensive flowers I have ever purchased in my life.

When I told my boyfriend the story, I informed him he better enjoy them because they were apparently luxury roses.

Here's the thing. I know what some people would say after these stories. "That's why you don't help people." "That's why you mind your own business." "That's why you don't trust strangers." I get it. I really do. But I don't think that's the lesson. Because if every bad experience gets to decide the kind of person we become, eventually the bad experiences win.

The answer isn't to stop being kind. The answer is to become wiser. Keep your boundaries.

Trust your instincts. Protect yourself. Protect your kids. But don't become the person who drives by every person who needs help because one person lied. Don't become the person who never buys flowers because one person overcharged you. Kindness sometimes costs more than you expected. Sometimes it costs twenty dollars for five-dollar flowers.

Sometimes it costs your pride. Sometimes it costs your trust. But I still think the world has enough people looking for reasons not to care. I'd rather be the person who occasionally gets burned than the person who stops trying altogether. Even if my boyfriend did receive the most expensive Walmart roses in Colorado history.

Dude... Don't Be Rude.