Called Me Greedy, Now They Beg

As soon as Carmen Webber finished speaking, she won over many of the people present.

"Now that's a decent young lady," someone remarked. "You can tell right away she has a kind heart."

Another chimed in, "Exactly. These days, plenty of people expect something in return for doing a favor. If she's willing to help us out, that's one less thing to worry about."

"From now on, we'll leave our packages with you. We'll have peace of mind."

The pavilion where the residents gathered to sit and chat was packed. There were retirees, stay-at-home moms waiting to pick up their kids from school, and neighbors who had just returned from the grocery store.

A few compliments were all it took for everyone present to side with Carmen.

The first person to agree was Mrs. Thompson from the fourth floor. She was getting older, and climbing stairs had become difficult for her.

For the past seven years, I'd carried every package she received upstairs for her—no matter how big or small. That included heavy grocery deliveries like bags of flour and large jugs of cooking oil.

Whenever she needed someone to watch her grandson at the last minute, I was the first person she turned to.

However, now, Mrs. Thompson crossed her arms and pursed her lips in disdain.

"That's one way to see it, I guess," she began. "But anyone spending every day looking after piles of other people's packages isn't doing it purely out of kindness.

"No one would waste their time for nothing these days. Besides, if she wasn't getting paid for this, where else would she be getting her money? She's never even had a regular job."

The moment those words settled, whispers rippled through the crowd.

Some claimed they'd seen delivery drivers constantly leaving packages at my door and insisted I must have some under-the-table deal with them.

Others spread rumors that I used helping people as an excuse to accept snacks and fruit from the neighbors as unofficial payment.

Douglas Lynch, who lived in my building and regularly asked me to keep an eye on his kid, nodded in agreement.

"Places like that get paid to hold packages. She's been taking advantage of the fact that the nearest parcel pickup point is too far for us to get to. Who knows how much she's been making off us behind our backs?

"Now that this new neighbor is willing to help everyone for free, we don't have to worry so much anymore."

I stood at the edge of the crowd and listened to the voices around me. A lump seemed to lodge itself in my throat, leaving me without even the strength to defend myself.

The truth was, I'd never intended to help so many people in the first place. It had started with Mr. Evans on the third floor.

He was an elderly man living alone, and his bad knees made it hard for him to pick up his deliveries on time.

Since I lived on the first floor, I simply asked the delivery drivers to leave Mr. Evans' packages outside my apartment. Then, whenever I had the time, I'd carry them upstairs for him.

Before long, neighbors throughout my building and even residents from the two buildings beside us had gotten into the habit of having their packages left with me.

Even after a parcel pickup point opened nearby, nobody changed the routine because everyone complained it was a ten-minute walk away.