I was in Duane Reade the other day when all of a sudden I and the 50 people in one inefficient line all heard and saw a woman walk into the store, crying and wailing, her face contorted with pain. She looked like the average 50 year old Jewish New Yorker. Prematurely silver hair, black full length puffy coat, black boots caught in between snow boots and stylish boots, carrying a hippieish beige satchel purse. I stood there thinking, "I have to ask her what's wrong. I have to help her. If I don't what kind of person would I be? Would I even be a human being if I didn't?" and as she balled and moaned and walked by me my thoughts turned into "I'm sure the reason people don't approach this sort of sisutation is out of fear. And it's understandable. I mean, how do I know she won't lash out at me or maybe even hurt me?" and just like that I went from being a caring person to a rational, cold person. She walked down the long makeup & shampoo aisle and the weird thing was that she stopped crying but after a minute or so would start up again. I and one other person in line were traumatized (visualize our furrowed brows and frown lines) and captivated and kept turning around to observe her. My curiosity got the best of me and I stepped out of line and found myself downstairs in the cleaning products aisle where she was narrowing down detergent options. I walked by her slowly and she seemed fine. If I hadn't witnessed her sobbing upstairs a few minutes ago I would never had known that anything was wrong. And then it occurred to me that she probably has Tourette's and I felt better for being a cold-hearted person with a detective mind.