I just assume you're a good person

There are relatively few things I can say I strongly believe, but one is certainly the idea that most people have genuinely good intentions.

I truly believe this. I'm not saying that most people are "good" (whatever that means) but that, by and large, they intend to do good.

There are exceptions of course, though I'm not good at recognizing them. I have almost no ability to detect when someone is trying to take advantage of me. Call it naivete or whatever, I just don't pick up on it.

The result is that you could easily get me to buy a fake deed or to give you money to help with some nonexistent problem. But I choose to believe people don't do that to each other.

My wife, on the other hand, would disagree. She can point to several examples in which she would say my faith in humanity ended up biting me in the proverbial backside.

The most shining example of this was Maurice. Maurice was a man I met at a Shell gas station a couple of years ago when I was pulling in to put some air in my tires. He flagged me down as I drove in and explained that he and his girlfriend were staying at a nearby hotel, that they didn't have any money, that they had gotten into an argument (I think...I can't remember the details now), and in a nutshell, that he needed to get food and could use some money to buy it and to get them back to where they actually lived. I wish I could remember the specifics, but you get the drift.

If you're like most people, you probably would have reacted in one of two ways:

Option A: You would have politely declined his request for money and driven away
Option B: You would have given him a few bucks and driven away

I, however, chose Option C, also known as The Dumb Option. I told Maurice to get into the car so that I could take him to Mr. Chicken for food, which I would pay for. I didn't know Maurice from Adam (or from Eve, for that matter). If any of my kids ever took a total stranger into their car like that, I would freak out at them. But for whatever reason, it seemed OK for me to do it because he seemed like a nice guy.

NOTE: My wife recently pointed out that many of my dumbest decisions include the sentence "he really seemed like a nice guy." She's probably right.

Anyway, we chatted as we drove to Mr. Chicken and I enjoyed the conversation. Maurice really WAS a nice guy, at least outwardly. When we got to the restaurant, I told him to order whatever he needed for him and his girlfriend. And there may have been a child involved, too, I can't remember. I think the order came to $20 or so.

Then, as we got into my car and started driving back to his hotel, Maurice said the only way he and the girlfriend could get home was by taking a cab. And since it was on the other side of Cleveland, it was going to be really expensive. I wasn't sure how much of his story I believed at this point – even I'm not a complete fool, though I know it seems like I am – but it was clear he was in need, so I told him I would take him to the bank and we would take out some money for him.

If you're a sensible person, you're probably staring at your screen slack-jawed at this point. "What the #^&?! were you thinking?" is something you likely want to say to me now. I know, I know. But did I mention how much of a nice guy he seemed?

I got $60 out of the cash machine and gave it to him. He had asked for more, but I told him that was all I could spare. Then I drove him back to the spot where I had originally picked him up. He thanked me as he got out of the car and told me he would be in touch to pay me back, which I never believed. Because again, I may be stupid, but I'm not dumb. Mostly.

Wait, you're wondering, how would he be able to contact me? Because I gave him my cell phone number. "YOU WHAT?!? WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST SIGN OVER YOUR HOUSE TO THE GUY, YOU DUMB ****?"

I know, I know, in retrospect maybe not a good move. But I thought that was the end of it.

Until a week or two later when I was sitting on a hillside in West Virginia. (This is absolutely true.)

Terry and I were attending my mom's family reunion, which every year is held in a rural park on the West Virginia/Pennsylvania border. We had climbed up a grassy hill and were sitting there by ourselves talking when my phone rang. I saw it was a Wickliffe number and picked it up, figuring it was somebody I knew.

And it WAS somebody I knew. It was my friend Maurice! He was at a different hotel this time and needed a place to stay, but at the moment he was short of cash and was hoping I could pay for his room until he was able to reimburse me.

It was only at that moment, I think, when I realized maybe not everyone is a completely honest person. In a few seconds, I would fall from the ranks of "completely honest" myself.

I wasn't about to pay for Maurice's hotel room, so I told him (truthfully) I was out of town and couldn't just come down and bail him out. He said that was probably fine and asked if I could come to the hotel the next day when I was back. So I did the only thing I could think to do.

I lied through my teeth.

"Oh, I won't even be back in Wickliffe until Thursday," I told him. "And even then I have work and I'm going to be really busy."

We were going back to Ohio that same day, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

Then came one of those moments that lives on in my relationship with Terry. After I told Maurice I wouldn't be home until Thursday (it was Saturday), I covered up the phone and said in a loud whisper to Terry, "I'M LYING!"

And she started busting up. Of COURSE I was lying, and of COURSE she knew I was lying. There was no reason for me to tell her I was lying, but I felt the need anyway. Now, to this day, any time Terry or I say something that obviously isn't true, one of us will look at the other and loudly whisper, "I'M LYING!" We have fun together.

Maurice hung up and, surprisingly, I never heard from him again. I really thought I would. Terry, from time to time, will mockingly ask me if he has called recently to arrange repayment of the $80 "loan" I gave him (which is how much it was when you add up the food and the cash). I tell her to shut up, she laughs at me, and life goes on. This is how you stay married for nearly 25 years.

Anyway, I tell you all of this not to suggest that I'm some virtuous person, but to drive home two essential points:

(1) Despite my stubborn belief in the inherent goodness of most people, I will concede there are indeed exceptions.

(2) I'm an idiot.

You instinctively knew both of these things already.