When I ran into an old college friend, she looked stressed and told me she was doing really badly. She said she was so broke she hadn’t been able to afford food for days. I didn’t even think twice—I felt awful for her.
I’m the type who meal-preps and keeps extra portions in the freezer, so I offered to help. I packed a big tote bag with a mix of things that would actually last: pasta, soup, chicken stir-fry—real meals, not just snacks. The plan was to drop it off after work so she wouldn’t have to worry for a while.
But right before I walked out the door, I opened Instagram and saw her post.
A brand-new tattoo.
At first I assumed it was an old picture—a throwback, one of those “remember when” posts. But no… it was clearly fresh. Bright, clean, newly done. I just stared at it, trying to make it make sense.
I kept thinking: Maybe someone gifted it? Maybe a friend paid? Maybe there’s some explanation I don’t know.
Still, it felt off.
So I messaged her—calmly—just asking if she still needed the food. I mentioned I’d seen her post, not with attitude, just genuine confusion.
What I got back wasn’t an explanation.
It was anger.
She went off on me, calling me judgmental, saying she “always finds money for ink,” and accusing me of looking down on her. Then it got worse—she started throwing insults, personal slurs, the kind meant to hit where it hurts. Before I could even respond, she’d turned it into a full attack.
I didn’t reply.
I just quietly put the tote bag back into my freezer, sat down, and stared at my phone, feeling a mix of shock and disappointment.
Now I can’t stop wondering: was she ever actually hungry… or was it more about getting sympathy and attention? Either way, it’s the kind of experience that makes you hesitate the next time someone asks for help—and I hate that it does.
