I used to fall for the stories myself. Once I was leaving my church after a deacons meeting and there at the door was a woman who claimed she needed money to get the bus home, since she lived in a town some 15 miles away. So I gave her a few dollars.
About two weeks later, the same woman approached me near the church with a slightly different tale. It was only then it dawned on me that she was probably a drug addict.
I’m a lot less helpful now; a little jaded, actually.
I don’t feel like being a Good Samaritan unless I see missing limbs or lots of blood. Hard luck story? Take a hike, schmuck!