Saturday, February 5, 2011


"i don't even know who the fuck you are."

no you don't.  i'm the guy trying to save your ass, you idiot, i thought to myself.  i cursed the weather as the night had become surprisingly cold in the past few hours.

how does one get through to a drunk and/or drugged girl, that they had never met only for the first time that night?  the idea of "i want to help you because you cannot help yourself" becomes a lost phrase that cannot be understood.  dealing with a belligerent girl who didn't know where she was, was trying to contact a girl who was in california to pick her up, lived out of town, and you or the person you were with had no real tangible connection with was a problem.

"you realize that you're not all there right now, right?  you just tried to get into a police car."  i had a nice time apologizing profusely to an officer who looked like he was about to pull his 9mm on me and the drunkard, as i pulled her away from the car.

"whatever, who cares?  just get off me!  leave me alone!"

i thought if maybe i was a bit gentler, maybe if i coaxed her in a certain way, maybe if i had more psychological training, i could fool her into being more cooperative.  but sometimes, there is no reasoning with the crazies.  so we spent hours trying to get any sort of useful information out of her, and instead we received nonsense and insults.

finally, relief came in the form of an actual bouncer who helped with getting the authorities involved in getting her to safety.  my friend and i could walk away (and oh did we want to walk away many a times), without the guilt on our conscience of her body being found somewhere in an alley the next morning.

but i couldn't help thinking to myself of that phrase she said to me.  that she didn't know who the fuck i was.  that she didn't understand that i was trying to help her.  that more than, it felt like a loaded statement, that she did not trust anyone to help her but herself.  instead of being angry at her for causing such a disastrous night, i began to pity her for having that kind of outlook on life, that she would find it hard to believe that a random stranger would try to help her when she was in need.

she had the airs of being independent, but i could sense that there was a deeper pain underneath that facade.  and as much as she attacked me, and as much as i wanted to walk away, i couldn't.

but maybe it doesn't matter, because i was just a stranger.  there was nothing really much more i could do.

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