I hate ethical problems...
And this particular ethical problem is something I've been dealing with since I was fifteen. In the intervening time between 15 and right now, it's gotten a little tedious.
So this girl I know (none of you, esteemed Friends) comes in on her night off, gets a little upset and a little drunk, and runs into a curb. Her pretty little Saturn now has one wheel canted at about a forty five degree angle. By reports, it makes a whistling sound (not good) and doesn't turn correctly (even worse) when it's on the road.
I find all this out over a late lunch break, around 5. Get back to work, and figure that she could potentially get into a lot of trouble, maybe even kill herself if she tries to take that car from work to the mid-cities. I dislike this possible-death thing, and I leave work a bit early to go back up and offer her a ride. My car is running just fine, even if it's sub-optimal in winter. No sweat.
So I do exactly that; leave work about 6:15, and wander in to see if she's got a ride already, or if she still needs one. A step ahead of me, she's already arranged a ride from a buddy that works with her. Easy enough; my presence is no longer necessary, but I figure I'll hang out until her ride is prepped and ready to roll.
I hang out for a while, and learn that she's spoken to her boyfriend while I was at work. He is profoundly unhappy with this turn of events, and is insisting that she drive the car home, in between bouts of accusing her of fucking around on him and generally being out having a good time.
When she says that, I take a minute to re-evaluate her. She's dressed nicely; black pinstriped slacks, grey/black blouse, very tasteful black velvetish overcoat, hair pulled back (as it must be at all times, because we are talking about a lot of hair here) and tied down with a pink hair-clippy thing. Her eyes are red almost to the point of glowing in the dim light cast by the cheap incandescent bulbs so favored at IHOP. She's come down off the alcohol, and you can almost feel the weariness and stress she's radiating out into the room. No signs of tears, but she's also not smiling, and her head has a slight cant forward to it, like it's all she can do to keep it level on her shoulders.
I've seen people having a good time, and this was certainly not it.
The boyfriend calls back while I'm hangin' out; she takes the call, and comes back yet more upset. She doesn't want to go home and fight; all she wants to do is go home and sleep. I sympathize; I've grown exhausted just listening to her tale, much less living through it. He calls back, again.
While she's talking to Mr. Wonderful, one of her coworkers asks if I'm taking Our Hero home. I explain that I'm not; she's already arranged for a ride home, and I'm just hangin' out until she's ready to leave. The coworker tells me that's probably best, since the boyfriend would throw a fit if a guy took Our Hero home. The coworker futher explains that Our Hero really ought to leave him. She looks right through me as she says it, like she knows.
She couldn't know, of course. She didn't go to school with me, and I haven't been just real active since school, but she had an odd look to her, like something else was speaking through her. She didn't look at me, exactly; her eyes were pointed at me but out of focus, like she was staring at something far behind me. I'm not a superstitious guy, but I'm as vulnerable to a good cold chill as anyone else. Maybe that's just the way the coworker talks. No telling.
In any event. I've got a ton of ammunition on the bastard, and with some exertion of will, could probably talk her into leaving him. I'm just not sure that's a good idea; I've suffered some accusations, in the past, of "using my powers for evil", so now I hesitate to take any steps along such lines without consulting someone else first.
I'll think about it.
So this girl I know (none of you, esteemed Friends) comes in on her night off, gets a little upset and a little drunk, and runs into a curb. Her pretty little Saturn now has one wheel canted at about a forty five degree angle. By reports, it makes a whistling sound (not good) and doesn't turn correctly (even worse) when it's on the road.
I find all this out over a late lunch break, around 5. Get back to work, and figure that she could potentially get into a lot of trouble, maybe even kill herself if she tries to take that car from work to the mid-cities. I dislike this possible-death thing, and I leave work a bit early to go back up and offer her a ride. My car is running just fine, even if it's sub-optimal in winter. No sweat.
So I do exactly that; leave work about 6:15, and wander in to see if she's got a ride already, or if she still needs one. A step ahead of me, she's already arranged a ride from a buddy that works with her. Easy enough; my presence is no longer necessary, but I figure I'll hang out until her ride is prepped and ready to roll.
I hang out for a while, and learn that she's spoken to her boyfriend while I was at work. He is profoundly unhappy with this turn of events, and is insisting that she drive the car home, in between bouts of accusing her of fucking around on him and generally being out having a good time.
When she says that, I take a minute to re-evaluate her. She's dressed nicely; black pinstriped slacks, grey/black blouse, very tasteful black velvetish overcoat, hair pulled back (as it must be at all times, because we are talking about a lot of hair here) and tied down with a pink hair-clippy thing. Her eyes are red almost to the point of glowing in the dim light cast by the cheap incandescent bulbs so favored at IHOP. She's come down off the alcohol, and you can almost feel the weariness and stress she's radiating out into the room. No signs of tears, but she's also not smiling, and her head has a slight cant forward to it, like it's all she can do to keep it level on her shoulders.
I've seen people having a good time, and this was certainly not it.
The boyfriend calls back while I'm hangin' out; she takes the call, and comes back yet more upset. She doesn't want to go home and fight; all she wants to do is go home and sleep. I sympathize; I've grown exhausted just listening to her tale, much less living through it. He calls back, again.
While she's talking to Mr. Wonderful, one of her coworkers asks if I'm taking Our Hero home. I explain that I'm not; she's already arranged for a ride home, and I'm just hangin' out until she's ready to leave. The coworker tells me that's probably best, since the boyfriend would throw a fit if a guy took Our Hero home. The coworker futher explains that Our Hero really ought to leave him. She looks right through me as she says it, like she knows.
She couldn't know, of course. She didn't go to school with me, and I haven't been just real active since school, but she had an odd look to her, like something else was speaking through her. She didn't look at me, exactly; her eyes were pointed at me but out of focus, like she was staring at something far behind me. I'm not a superstitious guy, but I'm as vulnerable to a good cold chill as anyone else. Maybe that's just the way the coworker talks. No telling.
In any event. I've got a ton of ammunition on the bastard, and with some exertion of will, could probably talk her into leaving him. I'm just not sure that's a good idea; I've suffered some accusations, in the past, of "using my powers for evil", so now I hesitate to take any steps along such lines without consulting someone else first.
I'll think about it.