The Bystander Paradox

Why is it that, when you’re desperately searching for the address of the dying man at oh-dark-thirty on a desolate country road in the middle of nowhere, not a single family member can be spared to flag you down…

… yet when you’re approaching the assault scene surrounded by enough lit-up police cars to be visible from outer space, there’s always a fat lady in a muumuu, desperately flagging you down so you can save precious seconds in locating where Sharonda yanked out Shanequia’s weave in a cat fight over the affections of Z-Dawg, the chronically unemployed purveyor of recreational pharmaceuticals?

Thank you, Madam Obvious, we already kinda figured we were in the right place.