You Can Talk to Strangers. But Don't Ever Pick Them Up.

I did one of the scariest things of my life today. As my best friend put it, "It was sweet. But it was stupid." And I couldn't agree more with her....

I picked up a stranger. 

From the middle of the street. 
He got in my car.
And I drove him 39 blocks. 
And it was the longest 39 blocks of my life. 
And will be something I never, ever do again. 

Let me explain myself....
I woke up ready to take on the world and everything I had to do today!

My first stop: Speedway to buy a gift card, and pick up a cup of coffee.
My second stop: the Post Office to drop off several packages.
My third stop: the corner of 19th Street and College. 

That third stop was suppose to be the Qtego office. But that changed quickly, when I was pulling out of the Post Office parking lot and driving down the icy, one-way street. A man, with a blue, plaid flannel jacket was standing in the middle of the street. I could either slow down, or I could hit him, because he sure as heck wasn't moving. 

There was no room for me to turn around. So, I slowed down and inched closer. Before I knew it, I rolled down my passenger side window, a half an inch, to talk to him. All he kept saying was that he was cold. He was cold, and he wanted a ride home. I asked him where he lived and (I thought) he said "1901 College."

My thoughts soon became blurry:
"Where am I?"
"What am I doing?"
"College Ave. isn't too far away."
"I think."
"I want to help him, but do I?,"
"Do I let a stranger in my car?"
"What if he has a gun?"
"He looks harmless."
"But don't they all."
"Who is they?"
"Broadripple had a recent shooting."
"I'm in Broadripple."
"It's daylight."
"I should be fine."
"It's below freezing."
"He's cold."
"He keeps repeating that he is cold."
"He has a home."
"I just need to get him there."

So before I knew it, I let him in my car. Under one condition: He had to sit in the back seat. (Now looking back on this, that probably wasn't the best idea either.)

He got in, I put my car in drive and then it hit me. I picked up a stranger. 


He told me to drive straight. I did. But I didn't like it. I didn't like being told what to do. 

He asked my name. I said Ashley. I think he said his was Seth. Or Shane. 

He asked my age. I said old enough. I asked him his. He is 36. 

He asked if I had kids. I said no. I didn't want to know if he did. I didn't ask. 

He noticed my CD collection and asked if I like music. I said yes. I asked what his favorite music was. He said hip-hop. He asked me. I said country. 

A client called me during this and asked if it was a good time to talk. I asked if I could call her back in 30 minutes. I hung up, and thought to myself, I wonder if that's the last person I will ever talk to. 

I told him I had to go to work. I thought about pulling over then. But his questions distracted me. 

He asked what I did for work. I said technology. He assumed I worked for Microsoft. I corrected him. He asked where work was. I said the North Side. 

I asked him why he was up in BroadRipple. He lives so far South. He told me he was visiting a friend. A friend to give him money for his meds. The friend wasn't home. He asked me for money for his medicine. I said no. I have no money to give you. I am giving you a ride home. 

I kept driving. I drove 39 blocks. Until I reached 19th street. He started to doze off. I think the warmth of the car was putting him to sleep. I had my eyes more on the rear view mirror that the street in front of me. I never took an eye off of him. I couldn't. 

I got to 19th and College and asked whether to turn left or right. He said left. I turned left and pulled over. I told him I was letting him out there. He begged me to drive him to his house. I told him, "I drove you this far. You can walk the rest of the way." He kept insisting I take him to his house. It was cold. I told him I would drive one block further, past the Church on the corner. He agreed. I stopped the car at the Church's alley. He still insisted I drive down the alley to his house. I asked him nicely, to please get out of my car. He finally did.

He opened the car door, and slowly got out. His hands were so dry and swollen. He took each of his hands, and wrapped them around his legs to move them from the car to the ground. The last thing he said to me, "What's with you people?"

As he got out, I started to cry. I cried  because:

(1) It bothered me that I was so scared of a guy who just needed a helping hand. 

(2) That he really could have been bad news, but I couldn't tell. 

(3) I was going to be okay. 

Driving from 19th Street to the office, was the first time in a long, long time where I did not feel like me. I felt lost and confused. I couldn't figure out what had just happened. I didn't like it. Something wasn't right. With him. With the situation. With all of it. I'm still not sure what to make out of this.
 

But one thing is certain: 
It's okay to talk to strangers. But don't ever pick them up. 
 

I don't need to be scolded. I have some great people in my life that already took care of that.

I know it wasn't smart. It might have been sweet. But it was certainly stupid. It will be something I never, ever do again.

I'm sharing this with you, so you don't think to do it either. I never want anyone to feel like I felt today. Like you can't control the situation you are in. Feeling helpless. And scared.

We learn best from each other. So take this story and tuck it in the back of your mind. I never thought I would pick up a stranger, but I did. And if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, think back to this story and just keep driving.