9:30 at night.  That’s really all I wanted … eh-hem, needed … was some toilet paper.  I’m not a Walmart shopper, but Sam’s Club was closed, and Walmart was right next door so it seemed the most logical place to go.  Although I should first tell you a little something about Walmart.  I don’t know who your town’s cheap-buys department store summons, but here, entering Walmart is like seeing the city of Rockford.  For a moment, the segregation of this city is of no consequence, with every shoppers expectation of saving a few cents drawing them out of their respective neighborhoods, never to face each other directly, but at least having to walk by while looking for the aisle that holds what they need.  I mean goodness, all I wanted was to find some toilet paper, and the voice of some young kid echoed past with a cool-toned “hey there.”  Seriously dude, we’re in Walmart.  


Although my first interaction with Walmart at half past nine was in the parking light.  As I stepped out of my car, a rather plump, frizzy haired black woman approached me.  “Excuse me miss…”  My arms found themselves crossed over the front of my body as she immediately dove into a story about her sister who had just passed and how they just shipped the body into town and someone was trying to cook for someone and they needed seven or ten bucks for gas money.  I’m not intentionally trying to be sparse.  That’s really all I heard, because I immediately assumed that what I was hearing was a lie to gain my sympathy, used to prompt my hand to dig into my bag for some cash.  Well, I certainly couldn’t just walk away and say “not today.”  I’ve used that line before, although I despise such a response.  “Not today” doesn’t mean “find me tomorrow.”  It means “not ever because I don’t believe you and I don’t want you using my money to buy yourself some more cigarettes.”  That’s what I was feeling, but I wanted to be more compassionate than that… so I asked her if she heard of Love, Inc.  Yes, I pawned off on her an organization that could help her.  At 9:30 at night?  Whelp, truthfully, my cashless self didn’t want to deal with a woman prodding me with her manufactured stories.  So my initial response convinced me that it was better to hand her off.


Another woman pulled up next to us in her van, asking if we needed any help.  And so my frazzled parking lot visitor immediately walked over to the van and began to tell her tale.  Walmart’s gates were calling me… I just wanted some toilet paper.  Though at that point, all I really wanted to do was wipe my response clean. 


Leaving the city barracks – yes, still talking about Walmart – I headed back to my car.  There she was, turning the corner.  “Excuse me, miss?  Oh… nevermind.”  My heart sunk.  Not because I suddenly believed her story to be true.  Rather because when she saw me again, she saw a woman who made up her mind.  I wasn’t going to help.  My lips sputtered out, “Do you have enough gas to drive to a station?”  “Yes! “ she exclaimed, and hopped in her car, lit up her cigarette, and followed me across the street.  With one more request for cash, as we stood under the Mobil fluorescent lights, I reminded her of my empty wallet and pumped her car with gas.  


With the cap closed up and gas pump back in its holster, she approached me with arms stretched wide open and smothered me with a squeeze.  The story told was a lie, but that hug was genuine.  Who knows… she could have driven back to Walmart to start telling her story again, but perhaps in that moment she felt somebody love her.  Somebody challenged by the selfishly noted inconvenience of her presence.  


We say that one dishonest vagrant can “ruin it” for the ones that are genuinely in need.  Should that mean our hearts turn cold?  Is there room for discernment, or do we leave that up to the “professionals”?  What do you think?