Hangars

I gave a neighbor kid a wire coat hangar last week. From there the story goes downhill. It was early morning coffee time. He said he was locked out, cold, mosquito-bitten, wanted to slip into the neighbor’s car until they came home. I applied my powers of intuition, looked him over thoroughly (I didn’t recognize his face, but his demeanor was true), and handed over the coat hangar.

Not everyone follows the same belief system that I do. Others have a belief system that involves calling the cops first and asking questions later. Perhaps they believe it is neater, it might save time. For whatever reason, the cops were called, two cars full of them, flashing lights, et cetera, and the kid hauled out of the safety of the neighbor’s car and handcuffed until his complete identity could be ascertained.

Turns out he was telling the truth. And Gene has asked me to stop handing out coat hangars to anyone I see, regardless of the genuine need.