I had a very weird, intense thing happen today.

So I was working on course marketing at a Starbucks by my house when this drunk older gentleman wandered in and began yelling. He announced he was a Marine vet and that he didn’t want to order at the back of the line, and so the barista gave him a free coffee where he stood and thanked him for his service.

He continued standing there yelling (mostly incoherently), and I watched him for a few minutes asking myself, how to I act toward him responsibly and out of compassion? The baristas were making increasingly uncomfortable small talk with him and the other customers were getting visibly nervous.

I didn’t know what to do, really, but I wanted to be a good person and Do What My Dad (a pastor) Would Do, so I made eye contact and listened compassionately. I figured maybe he just needed to talk to someone, and I could help him by listening.

However, he was very clearly intoxicated, and after about 20 intense minutes he was only getting louder and angrier. The Starbucks employees were clearly out of their depth — one had hidden in the back room, one was peeking at us from the drive-through alcove, one was nervously watching us from the register, and one was loudly cleaning a smoothie container, pretending that nothing was happening.

When he eventually started shouting prayers, the door behind me opened and two cops came in, making a beeline toward him. Turns out one of the other patrons in the store had called them.

The cops bundled the gentleman (whose name by then I had learned was Todd) outside. He hadn’t touched his coffee. I waved and awkwardly said “thanks” to the cops as they left. And I sat there staring at it as everyone else went back to their business, thinking about what I could have done differently.

I feel like my dad would have been frowning and shaking his head. I think he would have wanted me to pray with or counsel Todd somehow, but I didn’t know what to say. (I’m a podcaster, writer, & marketing strategist who has never had any counseling training.) Todd had been telling me that his wife had left him, and other details about his life, and he was just SO angry and SO intoxicated.

In our oddly timeless 20-minute conversation, I had asked Todd if he had a warm place to sleep at night and he said no, and I recommended a couple places downtown that he said he already knew about. So I asked him if he had eaten that day and offered him a granola bar from my bag, but he didn’t want it. I literally could not help him in any way I could think of. And more and more, I realized I was not only failing him, but failing my dad.

So I just sat there at my table in Starbucks and all of a sudden I was just CRYING for about a million reasons. I was humbled that I couldn’t (or didn’t know how to) help this man. I was embarrassed that I’d been bold/naive enough to think I *could* help him. I was ashamed that I had failed my dad. I was angry that he had vented his anger at me. I was despairing that there were so many people I could not help in the world. I felt hurt for some reason I still don’t understand. I even felt used, in a weird way.

Later, my siblings told me that I should have just walked away when Todd sat down at my table. That I’m entitled to my personal space. And that Dad wouldn’t have wanted me to, in my sister Rachel’s words, “be the crisis counselor for a very drunk, angry man.” That he would have wanted me to be safe.

But even though I understand that logically, I can’t reconcile that with the fact that it’s our duty to help the homeless, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit the imprisoned. I feel like, “But I’m not a trained counselor!” and “But I need to be safe!” and “But I’m female!” are just excuses. I don’t know where I got these beliefs, but they are strong. And probably not incredibly good for me.