Good karma comes to those who...drink?

Indeed. I seem to have that perverse craving to redeem myself, from time to time; you know, to be the good guy I want to be, to do the right thing. Lucky for me, as fate would have it, I did get a chance the other day.

I had visited my father, and as those visits go, they tend to leave me pleasantly inebriated, glowing with conviction and a desire to justify my fortune in life (the fortune that is an operational body, a good intellect and the emotional intelligence to be able to know right from wrong) by helping others.

I had wlaked to my father's place without a coat, given the sun threatening to scorch me seven ways from sunday, and no dark skies on the horizon. Well, at least none I'd managed to see.

So, walking on from there, the rain was of course coming down in spades. Folk, let me be the first to drop this gem of wisdom, a t-shirt and a 1 mm thick black shirt does *not* repel rain all that well at all. But then, quoting Sin City; "There's an old Samurai saying: Rain is only a problem if you don't want to get wet."

So, I was ambling along, ablaze with purpose and zest; when I realised someone was lying on the pavement about ten meters in front of me. Halfway on the sidewalk, halfway on the street.

Not particularly clever, by my standards. But then, it did indeed appear he wasn't really in a state to realize it himself.

Given my state of mind, the path was pretty damn obvious. Help the man out. Two random passerbys were milling about, apparantly trying to find out whether to do something or ignore it - a few choice suggestions had them helping me dragging the poor unfortunate off the street, and into a doorway. Part shield from rain, part shield from him toppling onto the road again.

Next step; making sure someone had called an ambulance, while trying to find out whether the guy was actually mentally present.
Once all the immediates were taken care of, and the other passerbys sent onwards into the evening and the rain, I tried to get the man back to lucid form. He was able to speak, but not to make a whole lot of sense. When he did speak, it was in a broken strand of danish, mumbling to himself in what I suspect was indian. Weird stuff.

He mumbled about needing help, in between lolling back and forth, smacking himself against the door a few times, fortunately without any visible effect; and slowly, he became more coherent. Well, as coherent as someone who's drunk enough to pass out on the road can be, I guess.

Funny thing was, apart from him every now and then looking at me, telling me that I was almost like John Lennon, he talked about that I'd saved him, and he told me about good karma, and how my future was going to be better than it would have otherwise been.

Ironically, I'd say the present then was actually good enough. When the ambulance finally came, and took him along, I felt positively radiant. Doing a good deed rarely feels worth it once done, but I might as well have walked on air for the rest of the journey. The rain felt warmer, and I couldn't stop smiling.

Cheap thrills, I'd assume, but it's damn good when, for once, doing the right thing is enough. No broken bottles and broken heads, no 5 seconds too late.

Obscenely naive I know, but I felt grateful for that I got the chance, and that I did it right.

And to think, it wouldn't have been possible, if I had not stayed to drink at my father's place.

"Thanks to beer, my good karma has increased!"

I am now Captain Awesome...at least until the next time, I almost pull off an incredible stunt, and once again my amazing story ends with "and then I stumbled, and fell over".