I think I was conned.

It happened around lunchtime in uptown Charlotte.

While rushing to a five-minute meeting in the Wachovia atrium, I noticed a woman who appeared to be crying. She was sitting on one of the many benches that line Tryon Street.

At first I kept walking, mildly curious, a wee bit sad, but determined to make my appointment.

But after traveling a few feet, each step grew progressively harder.

What obligations do we have to our fellow human beings, I asked myself. Would Jesus walk past a weeping woman invisible in a noontime crowd? I thought of the Good Samaritan, the news accounts of people who watch and do nothing while an innocent victim is raped or beaten or killed.

So around I turned.

The woman told me she was “living out here on the street” and was supposed to meet someone who had promised to buy her food. But the person was late by two hours, she said.

I explained that I had a quick meeting but promised to return in five minutes.

Only in hindsight did I note the absence of visible tears.

I kept my appointment and returned, as promised, in five minutes. The woman saw me coming and rose from the bench before I arrived.

“What do you have a taste for?” I asked.

She gave the name of a Chinese restaurant in Latta Arcade.

Again, hindsight.

It probably should have struck me as odd that a homeless person would know the name of a tucked-away eatery, but I was too busy asking questions to do the mental calculations. I wanted to know her story.

She said she had cancer. She said she had two half-sisters who told her they didn’t care if she lived or died. She said she suspected it was because she was the darkest of the three. She said the local homeless shelters had no empty beds because they gave preference to women with children. She said she had been denied disability but would appeal the ruling.

When we reached the restaurant it became apparent that this woman knew the menu better than most people know their kitchen pantries. It also became clear that the woman behind the food counter had a passing familiarity with my lunch guest.

Clearly, I was not her first chump.

All in all, I spent a grand $8 to buy this woman lunch – certainly not enough to lose sleep over.

But it did get me to thinking?

What are our obligations in a world full of trickery and deceit?

If I went back to that bench today, would I find her still there, weeping?

And because of her, will I be less likely to extend generosity the next time I encounter a person in need?

Sadly, probably so.