Do you trust people to do the right thing?
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
I discovered this week that I don't, and it surprised me.
By "do the right thing" I mean not taking advantage of someone, usually for financial gain, no matter how easy or inconsequential it seems.
I'm asking the question after a curious trip this week to a cafe.
Taking the opportunity to sit down for a coffee with my niece, we were flanked on either side by two other tables of two (yes, yes, we were socially distant, as the cafe was doing the right thing).
The two men on my right, got up to pay. After a few minutes my niece gave me a worried look. Left unattended on the table was a tablet computer.
The counter wasn't that far away, but the table he had left was much closer to the passing parade of shoppers going in and out of the main door.
"Gee he's trusting," I commented.
He eventually returned, casually packed up his belongings and left.
We didn't think any more about it, until the two women on the other side got up and left. I glanced over to that table and one of them had left a mobile phone.
At that point, we thought we must be on Pranked.
I didn't even consider that, like the other customer, she had left the phone there while she paid, as the table was in a corner well out of sight of the counter.
I jumped up to grab the phone and chase after the woman when she rounded the corner.
I said: "Oh I was just going to run after you with your phone".
She looked at me like I was strange.
"No, I just had to pay. All good," she said.
I returned the strange look, which was inevitably followed by the awkward silence of two people who have no idea what just happened.
I still don't.
When did everyone become so trusting?
I must have missed that memo.
Have we returned to those good old days when, as your nan and pop used to say whimsically, "We never needed locks. We just walked out of the house and left the door open"?
Where I live is not exactly Tijuana, but it's also not Doris Dayville.
I should test my theory that an open door in suburbia these days is an invitation to be cleaned out. It would help gauge my level of distrust. It would also sort out whether my suspicion is warranted.
But, considering I never enter the house without locking the screen door behind me, I am not likely to suddenly shift from over-protective to overtly communal.
If I left the door open while I slipped down to the shops, I'd return to a house stripped of electrical goods and anything else easily sold at the hock shop.
I'd put money on it.
Not that I keep any money on the premises. It all goes with me, contained in a magic plastic card.
Losing my wallet used to be my biggest fear. Now it's losing my phone.
About a year ago I dropped my wallet somewhere in Charlestown Square. I had it when I entered the centre, but didn't when I returned to my car. I retraced my steps in a panic.
When did everyone become so trusting? I must have missed that memo.
I did a mental stocktake of what was in the wallet: about $50, loads of 5 cents and a chaotic jumble of valuable ID/bank cards.
As a last resort, I went to the information desk. With zero hope that the answer would be yes, I asked the woman there if it had been handed in.
With tears in my eyes, I described my wallet like a dearly departed relative.
"It's colourful ... and well loved," I sniffed.
She conferred with her colleague, shuffled under the desk, pulled out an object and said "is this it?"
It was. It was. It so was.
Like a sugared-up infant, I screamed my full name and address (plus a few unnecessary personal details) so the woman could confirm my identity.
The person who found and handed in my wallet was a man. That's all I know. He didn't leave his name. Clearly he didn't need to be thanked.
He was just doing the right thing.
I was thankful he did.
That said, I still haven't received the "It's OK To Trust People Again" memo.
I reckon someone has stolen it.
MORE FROM DEBORAH RICHARDS
