Many years ago, I had decided to spend the evening at a local speak-easy. After a short amount of time, I noticed that an old man was quite inebriated. The barkeep asked me if I would see to getting the man to his home. I thought that I would be performing a gallant deed and I would be king for a day.
He happened to live in a dangerous part of the city and I was concerned for our safety. The man had passed out in my car and I had to shake him to ask which apartment was his. He incoherently said something to the effect of, "Third floor... number 12."
Then, he passed out again, but I had a mission to complete. He was a frail fellow so I pulled him out of the car and hoisted him over my shoulder. Step by step I struggled up the stairways and I was running short of breath as I neared the top floor.
I thought to myself, "It is I that will be the victor. Yes, I am the hero. I am Superman. Yes, a super Superman."
I got him to the door and shook him again. He mumbled something but I could not make out what he had said. He repeated it several times until I finally understood what he was telling me.
What he had said rang through my brain muscle in disbelief. I was not the hero. I was neither super nor Superman. King for a day was now vastly out of reach. The disbelief became a frustration. Frustration became anger.
I thought, "Why? Why me? What did I do that was so horrendous that I deserved this?"
You see, the man had said, "This is the wrong #%$@*#$ building, @$$#@&%"
I begrudgingly got him to his apartment, the correct one, and the proverbial lesson was learned: No good deed goes unpunished.
Sadly, this is a true story – a rarity from me.
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