"I'm sorry," I said as I started to walk away, "I can't help you."
This is about when he started giving me attitude. "You mean you can't be bothered to give me directions?"
I stopped dead and turned around. "IF you have a wife who's been in an accident in Springfield and you have no means of getting to the western part of the state, you don't need directions, you need a bus. Take the T to South Station and see what the nice people of Greyhound/Trailways can do for you."
"Was that so hard?"
I lost it at this point. "I know that you're not trying to guilt me for not falling for the oldest street con in the book, sir. You were not going to ask for directions. You were going to ask for money, and if I gave to everyone who approached me with 'my wife has been in an accident in the western part of the state' or 'my girlfriend is having a baby in a hospital on the Cape' stories, I wouldn't make rent."
He skulked away muttering, "Fucking asshole."