These stories go on forever...

I'll add one more, then retire from the thread.

I landed out during the Sports Class Nats at Cordele, Georgia (89,
90?). It was a field left fallow among the peanuts. No damage, easy
access, no worries. I walked the half mile to the farmer's house and
knocked. The door opened and out he came, about 5'6", 150 lbs, in
overalls, and clearly interested in what I was doing on his doorstep.
He began talking rapidly. I didn't understand a single word he said.
But I recognized why. It was his unusual accent. I needed to break the
code -- understand the music of it -- then I'd be able to understand
him. The key in such situations is to keep your eyes on the person's
lips. It usually only takes several seconds...

I suddenly became aware that he wasn't talking anymore. He was staring
at me, 6'2" tall, 190 lbs, slightly hunched over, slack jawed,
blinking stupidly, staring at his mouth. Add the silly hat, the open
fly, and a decade old Region 4 tee shirt, threadbare and stained, and
he came to the only logical conclusion...

He was very kind to me after that. Speaking slowly. Offering the
phone. Happy to see that my tenders were able to find me and take me
back whence I'd come.

Moral of the story? Those in need typically recieve aid in proportion
to their need. I'm sure this man thought, "There but for the grace of
God," and responded with kindness. Not particularly wholesome for my
ego. But you go with the flow...