How Being a Good Sam Resulted in Torture and Abuse (aka "My eys! My eyes! ACK!)

So I see the lump of humanity lying on the lawn curled up next to the wheelchair in front of the savings and loan.

I note the lack of obvious movement.

I quickly think to myself: “No one ever stops. No one ever cares. I can’t just assume and leave this person, (possibly just a body) lying there ignored. I must go assist if I am able.”

I detour and backtrack into the adjoining parking lot and park. As I leap from my vehicle I faintly here the Mighty Mouse song. * “Here I come to save the daaaay!” *

I look down at the man. The sorrowful, pitiful, pathetic man. I quickly take in he scene and conclude that he is probably asleep, not dead. He is surrounded by a magazine and his glasses. He is filthy and drooling. His legs are both gone.

So are his pants. This would be the torture “ack my eyes” part, and I don’t refer to his stumps as much as his genitals, which are completely on view, in all their filthy glory. I confess it does not add to the spectacle for them to be in the same sightline as his naked stumps. The whole tableau of his lower body, dipped in human yuck, is just more than I planned on for a casual trip to the grocery store.

But I am here on a mission of mercy and I press on, now with a double mission…aid him if he needs it, and if not, provide aid to others by informing him that he is on display and sparing them at least part of this really unpleasant view. I assume it is unintentional, since he has a tiny tea towel draped over one hip.

“Sir? Sir? Are you alright?”

Mumbling and grumbling as he awakens.

“Sir, would you like me to call someone for you?”

“No, no, no, they couldn’t help me anyway. No one can help me.”

“Sir, you are exposed, you should cover up.”

More unintelligible grumbling, but he reaches for his tea towel and moves it an inch. This helps not at all. It is at this point that I look at his wheelchair and experience the piece de resistance: the puddle of urine in the middle of it. Neato. At this point I am SO glad this guy is alive and refusing assistance, because I really want to get the fuck away from him.

“Alright, sir. And you are still exposed.” and I walk away and get in my car.

As I start my engine, the guy snaps out of his stupor with a vengeance and starts screaming at me at the top of his lungs. His point was lost on me, but I gather he felt judged in some way, since all I caught were the words “EXPOSED FUCKING BITCH” before I took off.

This was definitely one of those times when I am very closely in touch with how good my life is and how happy I am to be living it.

Sad guy, sad life.

And I cannot scrub the image of him from my brain.

Sometimes it’s tough to be a caring human being, ain’t it? Take courage in the fact that you tried–you won’t always succeed, but you can always try.

Well… maybe the next guy you help won’t call you a “fucking bitch”. Or maybe the guy after that. But I can guarantee that I know at least one guy who ain’t calling you that. I’ll give ya a hint. His name ends with “POOFE”. :smiley:

Everytime I see one of these wretched people, I think that at some point in the past, he or she was someone’s beautiful newborn baby. What the heck happens to someone to turn a sweet infant into a rotted, decayed drunk lying in his own filth?

Don’t forget naked…very naked. 100% unobstructed view of his bathing suit area.

And offhand, considering his age and the symmetry of his stumps, I’m guessing Vietnam happened.

And thanks, ** poofe ** . :slight_smile: