COLUMN: Scatter sunshine to all
Kind strangers are the best. Whenever I am having a horribly-angry-at-the-world kind of day and a passing stranger smiles and says hello, I start having a supremely-happy-at-the-world kind of day. I start smiling and saying hello to people. Opening doors. Paying compliments. Spreading sunshine. You know, all that good-natured sappy stuff. I am stupefied that these kind strangers, these angels, appear like a flashes of lightning at the most unexpected moments, because they always come when they are most needed. I don’t really remember faces, and I don’t really remember names, but I really remember the kind things that nice souls do.
Once upon a time I was carrying a bunch of groceries from the bus stop to my place of residence, which was a hearty distance away. The bags were many and heavy, and their plastic handles cut viciously into my hands. I set them down on the pavement and started mentally wallowing in my misfortune and bewailing my trials when, all of a sudden, like a flash of lightning, a random girl approached and asked if I needed some help carrying my laden load. Some people are cautious about accepting help. Maybe they are wary about possible indebtedness. Maybe they worry about imposing. Maybe they fear the loss of a few centimeters of pride. Not me. I would much rather accept help and express eternal arigato than deny help and struggle infernally with my independence. This is why I, without a microsecond of retrospect, accepted my stranger’s request. As a result, she helped me bring my groceries all the way to the place that I live, even though it was completely out of her way.
What you, kind stranger, might have thought was an insignificant act of service, ended up being a severely meaningful act of service and utterly worthy to be written about in my column. Do you want to know what I find boggling? When strangers (like you) do nice things, they do not expect an ounce of reward; they do it for the sake of being nice. I may never come into contact with you ever again, kind stranger, but I will never forget this huge impression you have made in my morale.
A moocher. That’s what I am. On my left and on my right, in my future and in my past, I am serviced, and only the Man Upstairs knows why. I don’t deserve it. Especially not the mango milk. Do you want to hear about the mango milk? I, at one point in time, was a faithful patron of my high school’s milk machine. My absolute all-time-favorite-joy-of-my-soul product that came from this machine was the mango milk. Ooh, it was divine. I only bought this milk on Fridays, so all week long I would spend my time impatiently waiting for Friday to come, and then when Friday came, I would relish my mango milk’s sweet orange nectar to every last drop. Mm-mm. On one occasion, I eagerly stuffed my dollar bill into the slotted encasement of bovinely-induced beverages and pressed the coordinated buttons … only to observe the machine ruminate my money like cud. I groaned and grumbled and rested my head against the machine in submissive anguish. You, my dear reader, cannot possibly begin to understand how much I was looking forward to my mango milk. The magnitude of my desire was off the charts. I scrambled in my pockets for any sort of change, but found none. Disappointment settled disappointingly. Then, like a flash of lightning, a guy waiting in line behind me put a dollar into the machine, pulled out a mango milk and gave it to me. He did not even get a milk for himself. Wow. His unbelievable act of charity made me deliriously and exuberantly mirthful. I have no idea who he was, but he surely put new meaning into the phrase “milk of human kindness.”
When kindness is an action, it is the realest kind of real. People can talk with their mouths all they want, but unless they back up their words with actions, their words mean diddly. Acts of service, whether they be given to strangers you have never met or strange persons you know all too well, are evidences of wickedly awesome people. “Bravo!” I’d like to say to wickedly awesome people, “Encore! Viva le sunshine!”
Melissa Condie is a junior majoring in music education. Comments can be sent to m.condie@aggiemail.usu.edu.