To my mind, do-gooders are for the most, a pain in the neck, if not way down lower on the anatomy. Self-centered, superficial maniacs proclaiming their unselfishness to all and sundry from the rooftops, mostly.
So why in heavens name does this introverted moron companion of mine want to make a fool of himself, helping the helpless and less fortunate? He tried it once and it backfired spectacularly on him.
There was this old man begging on the corner of the street. Grey hair, grey beard and grey moustache, all neatly trimmed and clean. A strong old man. Must have been as strong as an ox in his younger days, and intelligent. I think this beggar reminded him of his own father, and that is why he decided to do something kind to him from time to time. Small things like buying him a hamburger, giving him ten or twenty Rand on a Friday. And to talk to him, find out who he was, where he came from, why and how he got himself on the street begging.
And then came that fatal Winter morning. He stopped and this old beggar came up to him, happily talking away saying “we are on the right track now,” but his moustache was covered from side to side in this green, slimy goo hanging over his lips and dripping down on his shirt. And the moron wanted to puke. The contents of his stomach rushed upwards and he swallowed desperately to keep it down.
He blindly pulled away, tires screaming and for the next ten minutes he battled to keep his breakfast down where it belonged. He didn’t go back there again for a long time, and when he did, the old man was gone. Shame, he must have been very sick. Maybe he died. He never came back.
And now there is this other old, man on crutches with this wild white beard, begging on the street corner. He can hardly move about, can not get close enough to a car window to take the few coins people give him from time to time, so they throw it out the window on to the ground and the old man must beg passers by to pick it up for him.
And so my moron, the great saver of mankind steps in. He buys a fishing net normally used by children playing in tidal pools by the sea, and get his engineering friend to fix a holder for a small greeting card onto the handle. He then writes a message on a couple of small cards saying “Thank U” and God bless” and “have a nice day”. The idea is for the old man to be able to stick the net trough the window so the usually single occupant of the vehicle can put the few meagre coins into the net.
And then he drives around with this contraption in his bakkie for two or three weeks, but can not muster the courage to give it to the old man. Eventually, under pressure from me and his dear, sensible wife, we drive up to the wild old beggar man and hand over the contraption. By this time the old beggar man got himself a nice red wheelchair.
And what does this moron of mine do? I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was humiliated. I wanted to hide. I wanted to die. There he was, the big altruistic fool, walking up and down the road begging with his fishing net. Of course the people thought that he was mad and wouldn’t give him any.
And then came the cherry on the top of this mad, foolish cake: As you can see, a picture of me on top of the old man’s head.
We do not know what the name of the old man is, but we will find out, hopefully before he too dies on us like the previous one.
Holy crap, someone will have to seriously do something to stop this moron, or else we are going to find ourselves on a crusade to save the world.