Years ago, when I was a manager in a McDonald's restaurant in Belfast city centre, I locked the place up at about 4 am and proceeded to walk the mile home. It's how I would unwind after a night of telling teenagers what to do and stopping drunk customers from fighting, and throwing the odd wino out.
I was passing by a phone box when I saw one of the local tramps that infest the city. She was lying in the bottom of the phone box with her arm outstretched like a wounded soldier cut down by machine gun fire, "Help me Sarge, don't leave me here to die!" No she didn't say that, you gift. She wasn't a young hot wino (strange you don't see any of them), she was anywhere from 50 to 70 and was minging. I didn't want to touch her but I'm a soft touch, I'm a first aider also, so I thought she might be injured.
She communicated in gruffs as if she had been raised by wolves, alcoholic wolves. She muttered something about a bad leg and I helped her up. There was nothing wrong with her grip, it held onto my arm like a vice, and I made a mental note to burn the clothes I was wearing.
I decided to walk my hygienically challenged friend to her home, hoping it wasn't far, as it was on my way. The only problem was we looked like a courting couple, and I was so glad no one was about. Well, until the milkman that delivers to McDonald's saw me while he was doing his rounds. I could just imagine the conversation he would have with the opening manager. I looked down in an attempt to be invisible and hoped to work more nightshifts for a while so I wouldn't have to see him in the mornings.
It took what seemed like an eternity to reach the row of houses Mrs Rif Raf claimed to live in, she pushed open a door of what looked like a vacant house. Total darkness inside, the smell of piss was in the air, and I suddenly felt like the fly in a spider's web. In a second, as she pulled me towards the dark, I remembered my army training and rolled my arm breaking her Vulcan grip. She looked at her hand dumbfounded as if she was thinking, "Hey, that never happened before." I quickly said, "Well, goodnight" and walked off at speed.
The moral of this story? Don't help anyone because they will just want to eat your brains (or worse) in an abandoned house. No, you'll not see this tale in Aesop's fables.