Not my business?

I have now spent four days in Hypoglycemiadude's little Scottish town. I know how to get from his flat to the bus stop, train station and the local grocery store and where to find Empididae along the river. I don't know many people and I don't yet feel really at home. That's probably, in addition to the general Scandinavian fear of intruding strangers' personal spaces and lives, why I hesitated to help a middle-aged damsel in deep drunken distress today.

After I had left the bus on the way home from uni, crossed the railway and headed for the main street, an overly intoxicated lady stumbled towards me and slowly walked past me. She was nicely dressed and her clothes were untorn, clean and relatively stylish so she seemed to have a realtively steady life despite her obvious drinking problem. I turned around and saw her walk in to the local kebab place. 'Nothing I can do about it', I thought and continued my way home. A few moments later a thought suddenly rushed through my head; had I seen her lock a car that was parked along the road? She would've been in no condition to drive safely and I struggled with my thoughts on what to do. I did not see any police as I had this morning at the same spot and I had my hands full of stuff. I decided to go quickly home to leave my stuff and to go out again to look for her, hoping she hadn't got back into the car before I got back.

Going out again, I passed the kebab corner but couldn't see her. The car was still there. I figured she couldn't have walked far, so I continued down the road to the walkway over the train tracks. Then I saw her walking up the hill and she had managed to get pretty far. I reckoned my fear of her getting into a car was groundless, but since she by far failed the walk-a-straight-line test, I followed her for a while until I was sure she was heading home or somewhere else not totally aimless. She had a newspaper with fish 'n' chips so she seemed to be able to cope with the situation. So I thought. I turned around and headed home.

Just before crossing the train tracks I looked back one more time and the only I could see were her pink trousers and white shoes sticking out of the bushes beside the road. She had fallen into it and couldn't get up. I turned and went to help her and offer to take her home. What would I say to her? 'Are you OK?' Clearly not. 'Can I take you home?' 'Yeah, whatever'. Or 'Mind your own business'. Or 'Thanks, love, that would be very nice of you'. It's already embarrassing enough to be as drunk as her at five pm in your own town, and it must be even more humiliating to be pitied and taken home by strangers.

In the end I never had to decide what to say or see her reaction. A young man entered the sidewalk from another street and was 100 meters ahead of me. He stopped by the pink legs, helped her get upon her feet, chatted a bit with her and then walked slowly alongside her in the same direction. I approach them as they were chatting and they did not even notice me. Maybe I should have made sure he would take her home safely, but I didn't. I hope she realises she needs help. I know I drink more than I should for a super-healthy lifestyle, but know myself well enough to realise that I am not in any danger of ending up like that.