No Good Deed Goes. . .

without humor, it seems.

So, we're out and about this afternoon, doing some weekly errands -- grocery shopping, hardware store, bookstore, you know -- "normal" things.

It's raining a little up here today (which is to be expected) - a soft, misty Pacific Northwest rain.

What do these two facts have to do with the good deed, you ask ?

Well, therein lies the story. . .

My husband has a very soft heart at times and today was one of those times. We were headed back to our house when we happened to spot a gentleman walking along the side of the road, in the rain. After a quick discussion of "should we pick him up ?", we ended up with this. . . nice. . . gentleman in our car and us having volunteered to take him to a friend's house.

BUT.

Here's the rest of the story: When he got in the back seat, we both immediately realized that he is thoroughly three sheets to the wind. Toasted to the nines. Wow. He tells us his name immediately and he seems to be a pleasant drunk, but a definite drunk, nonetheless. He blathers constantly, EXCEPT to give us the information that we have to have in order to get him to a safe place. He tells us that his wife tossed him out of the house/car this morning, that he did a little drinking at one of the watering holes close to our house this afternoon (Momma -- you KNOW which one that is, btw. It's the one where we saw the OTHER freak show kerfuffle last year.), that he "took a bottle of whiskey into the library (!), dropped it on the floor accidentally (!!), and RAN (emphasis mine, but still . . . R.A.N. ! )", and that we were his "getaway car".

Lord. How do we manage to get in these messes ?

Anyhow, we kept asking questions, mostly related to "where do you live ?", "where is your friend's house ?", etc. He continued to mention that his friend lives "by a school". Well, normally, this wouldn't be nearly this difficult, but we live very close to a bare minimum of three schools. While we are asking these questions, he is TOUCHING everything that we have in the back seat, including my husband's backpack, and asking us what kind of pizza we are taking home. Weeeeird.

To make a long story short, we dropped him off at his friend's house. We have NO idea if his friend knew that he was coming over or if we got him to the right house AT ALL, but we pulled up, he departed the car, no one shot at us, and we got the h-e-double-hockey-sticks outta Dodge.

Thoughts ?