I actually don't care if it's made up or not. I have some money to spare (or I don't) but I don't have twenty minutes to hear an incredibly detailed story of your bad luck, true or not.

Though one woman once hit me with all of the bad news ever. She was pregnant and homeless and she just started bleeding and was worried about the baby. And she had AIDS so there was only one hospital in town that would deal with her fairly. And it was like on the 90th block south (this was in Chicago) and we were up in the Gold Coast.

I gave her a ton of money and a ride to the train. I think I actually offered a ride to said hospital, but she reasoned (maybe correctly for the time of day) that the train (and the money for a cab after she got off the train) was faster.

There's a 99% chance the story was complete bullshit. But I figure that 1% likelihood of truth meant passing made me pretty much the worst person ever. Plus, I was coming out of the Newberry after spending an afternoon reading 16th century Spanish texts in their original pressing. That's kind of a perfect storm of liberal guilt, though I was a pretty broke grad student at the time.