On the eve of Halloween, suddenly, on what was otherwise an average grease-seeking mission to Food Court, I was possessed by an idea. That very night my roommate and I committed a flagrantly unusual random act ... of kindness, and I haven't had that much fun since 90210 went into syndication.
Anne and I went reverse trick-or-treating. As we had to explain to a few people, it's like trick-or-treating, but backwards. We donned costumes -- Anne dressed as a mouse, I as chiquita banana -- and we knocked on every door of Russell Sage. But instead of asking for candy, we offered it. Armed with caramels and Hershey's Kisses from Topside, we turned two bags of overpriced candy into dozens of smiles, not the least of which were our own.
Where did my idea come from? I can only chalk it up to "the Halloween spirit." (Read: No clue.) My little experiment, however, drew some very interesting reactions. I'm happy to report that the majority of candy recipients tempered their initial shock with sincere smiles and thanks. No one has a prepared response to a stranger knocking on their door wearing a headdress of plastic fruit and giving away candy, but by extending a little friendliness, I got some heartwarming responses. One girl invited us to come back any time, regardless of whether we had candy. Another guy offered us cookies. Quite a few of my neighbors just stood there grinning and dumbfounded, wanting to reciprocate but caught too off guard.
There were, of course, a few suspicious people. One guy tersely responded that he didn't like candy, a few joked about looking for razor blades, and quite a number of people asked us what group we were from. Who would think a columnist from The D and her best friend would randomly offer candy to strangers? I tried smiling and offering candy to the distributor of The Dartmouth Review, but he was too occupied with throwing papers at doors. (Although to his credit, he unselfishly offered us extra copies of The Review. Thanks.)
It took a few dollars and half an hour, but through our small random act of kindness, Anne and I made people laugh, and in so doing, we felt good about ourselves. Random acts of kindness need not be time-consuming, costly or complicated, but as the recipient and the perpetrator, it just plain feels good. These acts require stepping outside the boundaries of social norms, but the payoff far outweighs the risk.
To those who claim to be creatively impaired, here are a few ideas: Drop pennies, heads side up. There's always someone who needs a lucky day. Call up WDCR at 643-1340 and request a song. When you're a DJ alone in the studio, nothing feels better than to hear from listeners. Remember someone's birthday. Blitz a friend with the top ten things you like about them. Find a car parked at an expired meter and drop in a quarter. Leave little notes for people; while editing this column I found "I love Julie!!" tacked on to the end by pesky Anne, and it made me feel wonderful.
Everyone likes to feel cared about.
And you never know when you'll get kindness back. Psych 1 teaches the theory of reciprocity, whereby the recipient of a good deed feels the need to reciprocate. If even a small fraction of the Russell Sage residents or you as readers, were inspired to do something nice for your neighbors, think of what a wonderful place this could be to live. Forget St. Thomas More -- you might be able to bring about utopia with two bags of candy.
Every day you're faced with choices on how to structure your free time. The way you treat your friends and neighbors is dependent upon the balance you choose between selfishness and selflessness. There are times when you need and deserve to be stingy with your time in order to study and sleep; I'm hardly advocating that we become perpetual saccharine do-gooders, but it takes so little to make someone else so happy. Think about what you do on a daily basis and why you do it. Do you say hello to passing strangers? Have you called your grandparents recently? On one hand, my proposal seems repulsively idealistic, but I've never heard anyone criticized for being too thoughtful.
I came home tonight to find a lollipop on my desk from someone I didn't know. It was delicious, but even more so because it was unexpected. In a small way, I feel like tonight I was a part of a candy utopia.
