A moral dilemma

It's probably a gross understatement to say, but I will say it anyway: In and around my neighbourhood there are a plethora of people of whom I like to call 'characters.' Yes, allow me to elaborate: You have the the ones who are always thirsty, thus needing a strong drink at all times of the day. Then you have the loud and brash 'women,' who would make every finishing school teacher wince. The newly arrived travellers. The self appointed pharmaceutical distributors. And, well, the extremely disabled man who motors around in his mobility scooter. This bloke in my opinion has seemingly appeared from nowhere. Literally, I didn't see his motorised wheels until they were nearly running me over. Suffice to say this man and his nippy ride have already carved out a niche place in my colourful area.  

When you first catch sight of this severely disabled man your heart instantly goes out to him. The chap is in such of a bad way. He really is. It's horrible. Squashed into his electric chair with a look that no adjective could ever do justice. Basically, he looks like a cross between Steven Hawkins and, erm, a root vegetable. Such is his affliction. The guy even wears hard rimmed spectacles. (Just saying)

This man has had an impact on my life over the last few months. He has severely tested my conscious and level of good will. The first and I suppose last instance of this was when I was going to my local supermarket and saw him with another man, the other bloke stopped me and was asking for money on the disabled mans behalf. He needed a pound or so to get "a taxi". I'm not usually one for giving to charity or beggars for that matter, but this man apparently needed a taxi and when I looked at his forlorn face I felt sorry for him. I felt pity. Although on the flip side I felt uneasy and dubious. I didn't know why at first but I had a let's say, twinge gut feeling that I was on the verge of being royally scammed. Hard rimmed root veg' man operates an expensive looking electric scooter, you see. At a push those things surely hit a good 25-30 miles an hour down a steep hill. So why did he need a taxi? Can you understand why I had reservations? Mama didn't raise no fool. Also, the man requesting money on his behalf was Irish and in Liverpool I personally know that many people have been duped by charming Irish men baring gifts (and potatoes).

Having said that, I am not naive and foolish enough to categorise all Irish people as the same. That would be terribly ignorant and in some quarters perhaps even racist. And racist I am certainly not. I own a green jacket. 

So, what did I do? Did I succumb to the request of the Irish man on behalf of the disabled fellow. Well, I mumbled that I was just popping into the supermarket and that I would obtain some change and I would give him some when I came out. I said this in the hope that when I had wasted enough time dawdling through the aisles to then come outside again they would have gone. 

To my dismay when I left the supermarket they hadn't gone. Great. I could see them across the road accosting another man who looked well to do. This man was black, wearing spectacles and was carrying a brief case. I watched intently to see if he would be more generous than I had pretended to be. The man looked like he generally wanted to help them. I observed from my vantage point as the Irish man departed (over a rainbow) and left the brief cased chap and man in the electric scooter to talk. The well to do man then proceeded to fish in his bag for something which I assumed to be his wallet. But what he brought out wasn't a wallet. It was a leaflet. He gave the leaflet to the man in the chair and patted him on his head and then walked off with a satisfied smile on his face. However, the  man in the chair wasn't smiling. He looked baffled. Perhaps even disgruntled. I'm sure he had assumed he was getting some cold cash to then be giving something to read. Something religious I concluded. 

Since that day I have sighted the motorised jockey a number of times. And on more than one occasion I have seen him clutching an alcoholic beverage. As you can imagine I was shocked, if truth be told. But after that initial surprise I felt happy and vindicated that I hadnt given into my compassionate side. The severely disabled man if he had had his duplicitous way must have believed he could have conned us out of our cash so that he could whizz to the local off licence to purchase some liquor to then and go and get inebriated with the tramps and squirrels in our local cemetery. (I've seen them at it!) Well not on my watch, Mr! Not with my money you won't! I nor my fellow residents will be taken for a ride. Electric scooter or no electric scooter. 

So there you have it, not only do I have to contend with able bodied crooks within my community I now have to also have my wits about me when they come in an altogether different guise. It's a dasterdly world that we live in. It really is. Actually, a thought has just flashed into my mind,  perhaps he drinks because he is depressed about his predicament... Oops. Imagine. Oh no, if that's the case then I feel awful. 

Demola, TCC