Over winter break, I took a stupid risk. After a late night with friends, I locked the car and was walking up the steps toward my front door when a man called me from across the street.

“Excuse me,” he said, “Can I ask you a favor?” I turned around and looked at him. The man was slight, and probably in his late forties, with blond hair that was beginning to turn white. I was apprehensive about getting into a conversation with a random guy late at night. This is how people get mugged, and besides, I really wanted to go inside and sleep.

Still, as I looked at him I thought, I’m bigger than he is, he’s kind of old and maybe he actually needs help.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’m really sorry,” he responded hurriedly, “but can you give me a ride? I would never do this, but my father just had a heart attack, and I need to get to the hospital. I was going to walk but I just saw you get out of your car and had to ask.” The man told me he lived about two blocks away, citing his exact address. He said that his teenage son was out late with his car, couldn’t be reached and that he needed to get to Rose Medical Center immediately.

He wasn’t wearing a heavy coat, which seemed weird considering his plan to walk — the hospital is about 25 blocks away and it was below freezing. But this also made him look less threatening — at the very least I could tell he wasn’t carrying any weapons.

“Ok,” I responded, “let’s go.” I felt uncomfortable, but I wanted to help, and besides, if I blew him off, he knew where I lived. The man looked relieved, stunned and sheepish all at once, and we awkwardly got into my car, an old, beaten-up Ford Explorer. After some uneasy silence, he again gushed his appreciation, and promised to drop ten bucks in my mailbox the next morning for my trouble. I assured him he didn’t need to.

On the way, I asked about his father’s condition. He said he wasn’t sure, because they wouldn’t tell him over the phone. Colorado does have strict rules about medical privacy, so this was plausible. But are they really not allowed to tell family members?

As we neared the hospital, he suddenly said, “Wait a second, my grandmother lives in these apartments, right here, and she turns off her phone at night.” He was speaking so quickly his sentences seemed to overlap. “She’d want to know about my dad, so I better get out here, and tell her, and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

It appeared I’d been had.

I felt resentful and stupid as I pulled into the apartment complex. I started to worry he was going to try to steal my car, but instead he just got out awkwardly, thanked me again and left. He was probably just a guy who needed a ride, and he used the hospital story to guilt me into it. I wondered why he didn’t have any friends he could call for a ride, or money for a taxi.

Sometimes, deciding to give someone a hand doesn’t require any thought. A few days ago I was filling my bike tires at the air hose next to Tresidder, and the girl ahead of me couldn’t unscrew her tire valves. She embarrassedly asked for help, we exchanged a bit of awkward small talk, not even trading names, and then she finished and rode away.

I think it is a natural instinct to want to help. But there’s a fine line between being a good Samaritan, and putting yourself at unnecessary risk. I’m still not sure which category the winter break incident falls under. Would I have driven him without the heart attack line? I’m just not sure. What would you have done?

Send your thoughts to wilkerson "at" stanford.edu.