So there I am, on the mountain, playing The Band-Aid Game (3 count), minding my own hypochondriacal thoughts, when I hear a scream.
I look up. Situation assessed: Lady. Lost footing. Fell on rocks. Crying. Grabbing ankle. Needs help.
K. So everyone else just walks on by. Not gonna lie--I contemplated the same. But DAMN THIS JEWISH GUILT! It was all, "You know, you really should help your fellow (wo)man. You know you'd want help if you were she. And her boyfriend appears rather hapless. You know, you really should do something about this."
I argued with my inner Jew all the way to the emergency call box, where I swallowed my pride, bent at the waist in terrycloth shorty shorts, and screamed into the vocal holes which I KNOW have not been cleaned since the Carter presidency.
Embarrassed, I relate the details of Ms. Slippy McTripsandfalls to the officers on the other end of the line and, grateful that my Jew finally shut the hell up, I huffed and puffed my way to the top of the mass o' granite.
Where I was met by police officers.
Demanding to know where the lady was.
They couldn't find her anywhere.
A bit surprised about the "good samaritan" response I was receiving from law enforcement, I again recounted the tale of Sally Cantclimb, including a description of her exercise ensemble and hair with poorly-placed streaks--a minor detail but, you know, anything can make the difference in an emergency.
With eyebrows raised the officers let me go...only to encounter two more sets of law enforcement on the way down.
And you know what? I started to feel ashamed of myself! ASHAMED FOR ATTEMPTING TO ASSIST SOMEONE WHO APPEARED TO BE IN NEED. Why? Because the bozos in blue are assuming I invented the whole story to get my jollies! As if!
I mean, Jesus Squeeze Us! Everyone knows that if I were to invent a tale, it'd involve a lawn hose and a bowler hat, NEITHER OF WHICH WERE PRESENT IN MY TALE OF TELLY ANKLETWIST!
So yeah. Doing the right thing? Overrated.
Next time, just walk on by.