Lisa Akers's Blog - Posts Tagged "random-acts-of-kindness"

Today I decided it was time for a random act of kindness. Sounds like I'm a really good person, right? eh...not so much. It's actually a very selfish act. I love seeing people's faces when you perform a RAK. It's like a drug to me. Makes me feel euphoric for the entire rest of the day. *shrug* Maybe I'm just weird.

So anyhoo... my RAK today involved wacky flowers. I went to Wal-Mart (yes, if you read my FB, you know I shouldn't go there, but I behaved today). And I went in the first door and looked around... saw no flowers, so walked across the front of the store in front of the registers to the other door—I swear I remember the fresh flowers being just inside the door in the few times I ever go to Wal-Mart. I ask the girl sitting vigil at the doors, "Where's the fresh flowers?" She laughed and said, they're at the other door (obviously she knew I had to walk right past them, as that was the only other door into the store from which side I came)... so I walked back to the other door. Still... no flowers. Wtf? So I asked the woman sitting vigil at that door--btw, this woman is in a wheelchair and facing the store, not the door, like the other lady... so they're not greeters. What are they? Goodbyers? Surely, they're not there to catch thieves? I mean, I'm all for equal opportunity, but wouldn't someone who could get around a little easier be better suited for that job? Thieves can be a rough bunch, yeah?

So I ask Goodbyer #2, "Where are the fresh flowers? The girl at the other door said they were at this door." She laughed and said, "Right there! You've walked past them twice."

There they were, in plain freakin' sight. I don't know what's wrong with my brain lately. I think back to the drive on the way there, and I had said to myself, "Damn... you gotta get out more." I felt like I had forgotten how to drive...no, really. I shit you not. At every light I was stopping for green and people were honking horns at me. So I had to keep reminding myself to stop for red before I got killed. I made a little rhyme: Red Means Dead. Actually, that's what my hubby tells me to remember about my gun safety button. But I just couldn't think clearly today out in the big open world. See, I rarely leave the house. And if I do, it's usually with hubby driving. For no particular reason I’ve become somewhat a recluse…especially in Winter—I hate winter. But today I needed to drop off some papers to the attorney's office. And it's like 70 degrees out there and sunny. So I think I'm in a fog.

I grab two bunches of flowers. These are too cool: Dyed Daisies. Blue, green, orange, red... an explosion of color. I dig 'em. I pay for the flowers and then notice this store has a McDonald's! I love me some Sweet Tea. So I treat myself to a tea. Our conversation goes like this:

I tell the cashier, "One large sweet tea, please," and hand her $1.09 exactly.

She takes the money and says, "Would you like ice today?" as she slides me the cup (it's fix your own at this store).

Hmm, that’s a weird question, but I answer, "Yeah, I would. Isn't it still over there with the tea?"

Looking confused, she says, "I don't know what you mean."

I look at her like she's an idiot and say, "Usually, the ice is with the drinks. Has that changed?"

Then she looks at me like I'm an idiot and says no.

"Then why did you ask me if I wanted ice today?"

"I didn't. I said I hope you have a nice day."

Facepalm.

"Oh! You too!" I cheerily reply with very red face. I’m not admitting this to my hubby and sons. They swear all the time they think I’m losing my hearing and I tell them they mumble… so let’s keep this to ourselves. They don’t Tumblr, FB or tweet… so this is our secret.

I hurry over and fill up my cup with ice and tea, put a lid on it, and reach for the straws—empty. There is a cardboard sign in the straw box that says, “Sorry, we are out of straws today.” I’m like, WTF? Seriously? I CANNOT drink without a straw. I really just can’t. It’s one of my idiosyncrasies, one of my quirks, one of my pet peeves…I. Can’t. Do. It. Can you imagine how many fingers have touched these cups?! So I head back to the girl up front and say, “Ummm, are you sure you don’t have any straws? Maybe just one back there with your shake thing machine?”

She shakes her head no.

Son of a Dick! I can’t believe this. Already my RAK is off to a bad start.

So I trudge all the way out to my car and get in, throwing the flowers to the other seat and do another facepalm. I. was. In. Wal-Mart. Duh! They sell straws. Oh well, not going back. Too long to walk and all that. I pull the bendy straw from an old Mello Yellow can in the back seat cup holder and open the window and blow real hard through it, just in case... and I make due—yeah, I know. I’m disgusting. At least I know it's my germs on that straw, though.

Off I go to perform my random act of kindness! I figure I’ll find someone on the road, in a parking lot, somewhere on the way to the attorney’s office. (I plan to give one bouquet to the lady who’s been helping with this legal thing who got a little grumpy with me yesterday.)

First person I see is an old woman walking down the street with a mean, unhappy look on her face. She’s African American (or is it Black? I have friends who confuse me because they use different terms for themselves). Anyway, she’s not dressed very nice at all, and I’m being nice about that. She looks tired. And sad. So I jerk into the ice cream parking lot next to the sidewalk she’s walking on and jump out with one of my wacky-colored daisy bunches and say, “Hey, excuse me!” She stops walking and turns around. I run up to her and hold out the flowers. “I’d like you to have these,” I say.

She steps back and holds her hand up. “Why?! Who are you?”

“I’m nobody. I just saw you walking and you looked unhappy. I wanted to brighten your day,” I explain and smile and reach toward her with the bunch of flowers.

“Help!” she screams and starts backing away. She gets about five feet away while my heart starts beating triple time and I’m just standing there with my mouth open and hand out, then she turns and runs. This old woman could trot too.

Soooo embarrassing! I run back to my car and jump in and take off the other way, hoping she doesn’t find a police officer to flag down. In my car, which is suspicious in itself (a white Hummer with tinted windows and a peace sign on the front tag), I have two bunches of wacky dyed flowers, in addition to a red-tattooed .380 pistol, 3 magazines full with extra ammo, a .32 revolver—loaded, with an extra box of ammo with that. If a cop pulled me to ask me questions, the combination of flowers and guns and approaching strangers might look bad for me. I take that back. It. Would. Look. Bad.

So forget it… I’m going straight to the attorney’s office. I decide to take both bunches of flowers in there. There are two ladies that work there. I only managed to piss off one of them yesterday, but what the heck… they both get flowers today.

I get out of the car and am walking and looking down into the tops of the bunches, trying to decide which one is prettier (to be given to the one I pissed off) and boom, my foot hits something, sending me flying forward, nearly landing on my face, and having to practically jump to get my other leg in front of me. Super trip… I land and half-run a few feet just because the momentum makes me. I finally stop myself and straighten up, quickly looking to the street—both ways—no one there to see my major goof. Yes! First break of the day! Then I look toward the attorney’s office. There she is. The recipient of my random act of kindness, watching me clutch two bunches of strange flowers, my keys, and the paperwork as I recover from the trip.

She loved the flowers.

I’m back home now.
I’m. Never. Leaving. Again.