Altruism or Stupidity ?
Would anyone in the right mind lend money to a complete stranger, not at all certain about the chance of return? That's exactly what I did two days ago, at the new Bangkok airport, on my way almost hurrying for my departing flight to Hong Kong in the afternoon. It was one of the most wierd encounters I could imagine, how all random factors could possibly come together and determine one's fate for a moment, for good or bad.
Here was how it happened. I checked in and walked past immigration ahead of time, with a view to finding something to fill my empty stomach and then window-shopping, or actually shopping, a bit leisurely within the airside premises of the brand new airport. 11:55 am, to my not-100%-reliable memory, was highlighted on my boarding pass as the latest time to be at the boarding gate. I am a seasoned traveller, I have a pretty good sense of how a passenger should behave at an airport. So prior to 11:30am, I still had some good time to shop, which I did.
I saw a wallet which caught my keen interest, so did a couple of brands of cologue and, since I did not want to feel guilty returning home with nothing for my wife, my mind also set on a lady bag or two. But the rational side of mind was reminding me to practize frugality, that I really don't need any of those things and, therefore, shouldn't succumb to the materialistic temptation. I persevered and, coincidently and luckily, having to attend to the call of some sudden bowel movement, I resorted to the washroom instead.
Afterwards, not knowing the exact distance to the gate, I sensed that it was high time to start towards there, straight away from the washroom exit without any more detour. However, no sooner I picked up a pace than I heard a voice in Mandarin whispering to me, asking me could I understand him or not. A momentary sense of disgust, of being disturbed, surged but dissipated swiftly. My normal self would have ignored any interference, however rudely, and carried on. But I halted and turned toward this Chinese guy, and with my rather friendly countenance, Yes, I understand some Chinese (ie Mandarin in mind). From that crossing of eyesight onwards, things happened mysteriously, with absolutely no sense of time in me.
My first instinct was that he needed help in translation with the menu as he was standing in front of a seat along the long stretch of sandwich open bar, although there was no sight of any menu in his grasp, and I was subconsciously keen to exercise my language skills. He was instead hanging onto a suit jacket with a torn inside pocket, which he exhibited to show me, telling me that he was robbed (or pickpocketed I cannot remember) at ChingMai. But he still cared to ask whether I was in a hurry for my flight. I said sort of, without checking my watch or thinking clearly, but rather captivated by the encounter, perhaps out of a mixture of sympathy and curiosity, also not without a sense of loose tie - Chinese in foreign land - then unbelievably (in highsight I mean), I even sat down and let the conversation continue.
The long and short of his message was that he was short on cash to go home, after I asked him a couple of times how exactly could I help him. I should have known better. It's always a matter of money. Being myself, I would have bore absolutely no slightest sense of guilt or embarressment by just walking away, saving even the excuse that I had no money on me, or that I was already late for my flight, which I was. But I lingered on, even asked how much did he need.
800.
800 Baht or what?
Hong Kong dollars.
Why?
Need it to buy a ticket to go home. He showed me his boarding pass of China Airlines departing for Hong Kong, not to Shanghai where he said he came from.
So you are buying a ticket on arrival at Hong Kong?
Yes.
Don't you have no friends in Hong Kong?
No.
What about any bank account?
No. I was robbed, lost all my US dollars also.
How much does a ticket from Hong Kong to Shanghai cost? Of course I had an idea and I didn't hear him clearly.
Is HK$800 enough?
I still have some money left.
I could have asked for more questions for all I cared, ie, why did he not have a return ticket back to Shanghai but to Hong Kong only or why did he travel to ChingMai by himself, etc, etc. Despite my subconscious suspicion of his story's authenticity, my altruistic nature got the better of me and I took out a golden note of HK$1000, asking for his change of two hundred if he had it. He grabbed my note eagerly, a fox tail from under the croak crossing my mind, and what he did next was pure repugnance. He unzipped his pant fly in public and dug his fingers in to twist and turn, taking out a couple of hundred Reminbi for me. How the hell could I touch those notes wrapping your dick! I was disgusted beyond words. It probably showed on my face.
He took off his gold-rimmed jade ring and shoved it to me, which I couldn't care less. He gave me his namecard, matching his name to his passport, making an effort to prove his identity, emphazing that he would pay me back. He asked for my namecard, which I gave him and just stood there pondering, forgetting the time passing by and not quite sure what I should do with him and myself. Just wierd. Sensing my puzzlement, perhaps, he shoved his ring to me for the second time. So I told him that I didn't need his ring or Reminbi. I would ask my colleague in Shanghai to call him and arrange to have my money back, an idea he was of course more than happy to endorse. He couldn't thank me enough before I walked off.
The sense of time still hadn't come back to me as I was heading towards the gate. Only when I saw the last-call notices for my flight, which a couple of ground staff were holding in the premises searching for missing passenger, did I realize I was probably among the last persons to board it. Actually the last person, which I realized once I board the flight, after a pretty long hike. Although I might have read my watch at that point, funny enough, no sense of the exact time seemed to have stuck in my memory, except the supposed last call of 11:55am which lingered on, and I was just wondering the on-time performance of Cathay Pacific flights must be really good.
Despite the peculiar drama and slight predicament for being the last one to board the flight, it didn't take long for me to be absorbed into my book (Nick Hornby's High Fidelity - an OK book, though not really brilliant as acclaimed). But some sense of "cognitive dissonance" was gradually seeping in and disturbing my concentration. I couldn't shut it out or help with my self-interrogation of why did I do it, why parting with my money so casually, the note which my wife gave me on the night before I set off for this trip.
It was not actually the money itself I cared so much about but rather how dumb the whole idea of parting money with a stranger sounds. Would Warren Buffet have done it? Bill Gate? Bill Clinton. This one surely wouldn't. Lee Ka Shing? No. But their celebrity status makes my hypothesis difficult to imagine. How about any of my bosses then? I don't know.
Why beat myself to death in the head over it. I did what I did out of nothing but good intention. As to whether the guy was real or just a crook, the verdict should come out soon. And why should I bother too much with the return of the money if it was a genuine act of altruism, although he was no beggar or anyone dying of hunger. Even if he was a crook I fell prey to, why should my good deed be undone in God's book (one just cannot be athiestic in all circumstances).
I was fine with all my self-serving psychiatric analysis. The irony remained, that I tried so hard to practize frugality, holding on tight with my credit cards against all coveted purchases, only to lose some cash to a stranger, although the damage of purchases would surely be a few times higher. Now I was thinking of damage already.
And it was. The truth was that he turned out to be a real crook. I tried to call him yesterday with the number on his card, keener to unwrap the shroud of mystery more than anything else. There was nobody by that name. I like it - a real life story of swindling which even I, a poker face and at this time of age, fell victim to. No, I hate it - my altruistic act fully taken advantage of shamelessly. I was furious. Fuck him. I wish him all terrible things imaginable.
But my anger only went down that deep and lasted that long. No big deal. And the answers to my misgiving of this mysterious crook and the whole episode began to dawn on me. I lent him the money (or passed him the money without seriously thinking of the return) as I was convinced of his dire situation given the circumstance - how could anyone make a living by cheating money off people in a restricted airport area? No way. And it was only 800, not 8000. It was not a fortune that he was trying to make.
I was wrong, dead wrong. A crook makes an effort to cheat and ripe you off in any circumstance and he is one of those shameless swindlers. True that he was not making a fortune off me but he has been doing it to anyone unlucky, dumb or kind-hearted (however one feels like the victim to be judged) enough to come his way, however remote the chance is, in one way or another, no doubt with no shortage of cunning tricks for all circumstances. It is his job, how he makes a living. Period. I simply made his day. Great!
That's funny. I am not going to rip myself further apart for having my intelligence seemingly upped by some swindling bastard. I have not lost sleep over it at all. Rather, I take the lesson in, reminding myself of the basic principle to be reinforced. That is, never again to part with money or any of my assets, however trivial, to any stranger, even acquaintance, not even if he or she is dying in front of me, as in which case, no amount of money would help anyway. Don't let any reason of pledge even have the opportunity to cross my mind. I don't care for no one except my own family members and, at most, my really close friends, ie, no more than two, perhaps three. And my close friends are all reasonably well off anyway, therefore, would hardly be in a position to be in need of anything from me.
It was no earth-shattering event which reshaped my view on the world and, thinking about it now, it was actually not the first time. I parted with 4000, a sum of money I could hardly afford at the time, to a person I considered a friend when I was a teenager. I got it back in the end, but not without a whole lot of pain. It's funny how people do not readily learn from the first lesson, although mine was one from over twenty years ago.
And I am not losing faith in charity donation, although it has become clear to me that whenver I shall consider any act of charity, it has to be on my own terms, ie, who I choose to benefit and how. In essence, charity should be a selfish, rather than selfless act.
While I thought I had had enough of the predicament, I could not help but tell my wife what happened over our supper chat, despite the risk of humiliation. Interestingly, she alluded to the magic of spell - like when someone speaks very softly to you. She reminded me of an incident when she handed over a 500 note too much to a stranger over some transaction, sort of in a trance. I remembered it and dismissed it as her pure act of negligence at the time. I still don't quite buy this idea of spell. But the funny thing is that I can now hardly remember his full name, although I was staring at his name card long and hard before I angrily tore it into pieces.
Here was how it happened. I checked in and walked past immigration ahead of time, with a view to finding something to fill my empty stomach and then window-shopping, or actually shopping, a bit leisurely within the airside premises of the brand new airport. 11:55 am, to my not-100%-reliable memory, was highlighted on my boarding pass as the latest time to be at the boarding gate. I am a seasoned traveller, I have a pretty good sense of how a passenger should behave at an airport. So prior to 11:30am, I still had some good time to shop, which I did.
I saw a wallet which caught my keen interest, so did a couple of brands of cologue and, since I did not want to feel guilty returning home with nothing for my wife, my mind also set on a lady bag or two. But the rational side of mind was reminding me to practize frugality, that I really don't need any of those things and, therefore, shouldn't succumb to the materialistic temptation. I persevered and, coincidently and luckily, having to attend to the call of some sudden bowel movement, I resorted to the washroom instead.
Afterwards, not knowing the exact distance to the gate, I sensed that it was high time to start towards there, straight away from the washroom exit without any more detour. However, no sooner I picked up a pace than I heard a voice in Mandarin whispering to me, asking me could I understand him or not. A momentary sense of disgust, of being disturbed, surged but dissipated swiftly. My normal self would have ignored any interference, however rudely, and carried on. But I halted and turned toward this Chinese guy, and with my rather friendly countenance, Yes, I understand some Chinese (ie Mandarin in mind). From that crossing of eyesight onwards, things happened mysteriously, with absolutely no sense of time in me.
My first instinct was that he needed help in translation with the menu as he was standing in front of a seat along the long stretch of sandwich open bar, although there was no sight of any menu in his grasp, and I was subconsciously keen to exercise my language skills. He was instead hanging onto a suit jacket with a torn inside pocket, which he exhibited to show me, telling me that he was robbed (or pickpocketed I cannot remember) at ChingMai. But he still cared to ask whether I was in a hurry for my flight. I said sort of, without checking my watch or thinking clearly, but rather captivated by the encounter, perhaps out of a mixture of sympathy and curiosity, also not without a sense of loose tie - Chinese in foreign land - then unbelievably (in highsight I mean), I even sat down and let the conversation continue.
The long and short of his message was that he was short on cash to go home, after I asked him a couple of times how exactly could I help him. I should have known better. It's always a matter of money. Being myself, I would have bore absolutely no slightest sense of guilt or embarressment by just walking away, saving even the excuse that I had no money on me, or that I was already late for my flight, which I was. But I lingered on, even asked how much did he need.
800.
800 Baht or what?
Hong Kong dollars.
Why?
Need it to buy a ticket to go home. He showed me his boarding pass of China Airlines departing for Hong Kong, not to Shanghai where he said he came from.
So you are buying a ticket on arrival at Hong Kong?
Yes.
Don't you have no friends in Hong Kong?
No.
What about any bank account?
No. I was robbed, lost all my US dollars also.
How much does a ticket from Hong Kong to Shanghai cost? Of course I had an idea and I didn't hear him clearly.
Is HK$800 enough?
I still have some money left.
I could have asked for more questions for all I cared, ie, why did he not have a return ticket back to Shanghai but to Hong Kong only or why did he travel to ChingMai by himself, etc, etc. Despite my subconscious suspicion of his story's authenticity, my altruistic nature got the better of me and I took out a golden note of HK$1000, asking for his change of two hundred if he had it. He grabbed my note eagerly, a fox tail from under the croak crossing my mind, and what he did next was pure repugnance. He unzipped his pant fly in public and dug his fingers in to twist and turn, taking out a couple of hundred Reminbi for me. How the hell could I touch those notes wrapping your dick! I was disgusted beyond words. It probably showed on my face.
He took off his gold-rimmed jade ring and shoved it to me, which I couldn't care less. He gave me his namecard, matching his name to his passport, making an effort to prove his identity, emphazing that he would pay me back. He asked for my namecard, which I gave him and just stood there pondering, forgetting the time passing by and not quite sure what I should do with him and myself. Just wierd. Sensing my puzzlement, perhaps, he shoved his ring to me for the second time. So I told him that I didn't need his ring or Reminbi. I would ask my colleague in Shanghai to call him and arrange to have my money back, an idea he was of course more than happy to endorse. He couldn't thank me enough before I walked off.
The sense of time still hadn't come back to me as I was heading towards the gate. Only when I saw the last-call notices for my flight, which a couple of ground staff were holding in the premises searching for missing passenger, did I realize I was probably among the last persons to board it. Actually the last person, which I realized once I board the flight, after a pretty long hike. Although I might have read my watch at that point, funny enough, no sense of the exact time seemed to have stuck in my memory, except the supposed last call of 11:55am which lingered on, and I was just wondering the on-time performance of Cathay Pacific flights must be really good.
Despite the peculiar drama and slight predicament for being the last one to board the flight, it didn't take long for me to be absorbed into my book (Nick Hornby's High Fidelity - an OK book, though not really brilliant as acclaimed). But some sense of "cognitive dissonance" was gradually seeping in and disturbing my concentration. I couldn't shut it out or help with my self-interrogation of why did I do it, why parting with my money so casually, the note which my wife gave me on the night before I set off for this trip.
It was not actually the money itself I cared so much about but rather how dumb the whole idea of parting money with a stranger sounds. Would Warren Buffet have done it? Bill Gate? Bill Clinton. This one surely wouldn't. Lee Ka Shing? No. But their celebrity status makes my hypothesis difficult to imagine. How about any of my bosses then? I don't know.
Why beat myself to death in the head over it. I did what I did out of nothing but good intention. As to whether the guy was real or just a crook, the verdict should come out soon. And why should I bother too much with the return of the money if it was a genuine act of altruism, although he was no beggar or anyone dying of hunger. Even if he was a crook I fell prey to, why should my good deed be undone in God's book (one just cannot be athiestic in all circumstances).
I was fine with all my self-serving psychiatric analysis. The irony remained, that I tried so hard to practize frugality, holding on tight with my credit cards against all coveted purchases, only to lose some cash to a stranger, although the damage of purchases would surely be a few times higher. Now I was thinking of damage already.
And it was. The truth was that he turned out to be a real crook. I tried to call him yesterday with the number on his card, keener to unwrap the shroud of mystery more than anything else. There was nobody by that name. I like it - a real life story of swindling which even I, a poker face and at this time of age, fell victim to. No, I hate it - my altruistic act fully taken advantage of shamelessly. I was furious. Fuck him. I wish him all terrible things imaginable.
But my anger only went down that deep and lasted that long. No big deal. And the answers to my misgiving of this mysterious crook and the whole episode began to dawn on me. I lent him the money (or passed him the money without seriously thinking of the return) as I was convinced of his dire situation given the circumstance - how could anyone make a living by cheating money off people in a restricted airport area? No way. And it was only 800, not 8000. It was not a fortune that he was trying to make.
I was wrong, dead wrong. A crook makes an effort to cheat and ripe you off in any circumstance and he is one of those shameless swindlers. True that he was not making a fortune off me but he has been doing it to anyone unlucky, dumb or kind-hearted (however one feels like the victim to be judged) enough to come his way, however remote the chance is, in one way or another, no doubt with no shortage of cunning tricks for all circumstances. It is his job, how he makes a living. Period. I simply made his day. Great!
That's funny. I am not going to rip myself further apart for having my intelligence seemingly upped by some swindling bastard. I have not lost sleep over it at all. Rather, I take the lesson in, reminding myself of the basic principle to be reinforced. That is, never again to part with money or any of my assets, however trivial, to any stranger, even acquaintance, not even if he or she is dying in front of me, as in which case, no amount of money would help anyway. Don't let any reason of pledge even have the opportunity to cross my mind. I don't care for no one except my own family members and, at most, my really close friends, ie, no more than two, perhaps three. And my close friends are all reasonably well off anyway, therefore, would hardly be in a position to be in need of anything from me.
It was no earth-shattering event which reshaped my view on the world and, thinking about it now, it was actually not the first time. I parted with 4000, a sum of money I could hardly afford at the time, to a person I considered a friend when I was a teenager. I got it back in the end, but not without a whole lot of pain. It's funny how people do not readily learn from the first lesson, although mine was one from over twenty years ago.
And I am not losing faith in charity donation, although it has become clear to me that whenver I shall consider any act of charity, it has to be on my own terms, ie, who I choose to benefit and how. In essence, charity should be a selfish, rather than selfless act.
While I thought I had had enough of the predicament, I could not help but tell my wife what happened over our supper chat, despite the risk of humiliation. Interestingly, she alluded to the magic of spell - like when someone speaks very softly to you. She reminded me of an incident when she handed over a 500 note too much to a stranger over some transaction, sort of in a trance. I remembered it and dismissed it as her pure act of negligence at the time. I still don't quite buy this idea of spell. But the funny thing is that I can now hardly remember his full name, although I was staring at his name card long and hard before I angrily tore it into pieces.
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