You've Been Kinded

“Hi! This is Melissa from Bright Deeds Co.—thank you so much for joining our kindness community! I'm just calling to confirm your first act of kindness has gone through!”

“Hi Melissa! Thank you, I guess…? Um, wait. Sorry, I thought I was gonna get something from you guys. That’s how it works, right? You give people little gifts, maybe a handwritten letter or something?”

“Yes, exactly! Your first $5 dollars paid for a cinnamon roll for a musician named Ted in Omaha! Isn’t that amazing?”

“What? Why did he receive a cinnamon roll instead of me? I paid for it!"

“Our subscribers have the most special mission on Earth and they are all happy to spread a little joy randomly. I’m sure you will love our community!”

“This… This isn’t what I signed up for.”

“Actually, it is! If you read the Terms and Conditions—”

“Oh, be for real! Nobody reads those! I had a really tough week at work, ok? I thought you guys were going to send me some, I don’t know, coffee? Maybe a surprise hug? A few words of affirmation? Not use my money to pay for a random Fred in Oklahoma–”

“Ted in Omaha–”

“Right, Ted in Omaha–”

“And now Ted’s having a better week! All because of you! Isn’t that beautiful?”

“I guess so? But what about me? I’m still paying for this service–and your random call right now, which is making me a little irritated to be honest. What do I get? You know what, Melissa? Can I get my muffin back?”

“It was a cinnamon roll and I’m afraid we don’t do returns on joy, Josh.”

“Okay, well, I’d at least like to unsubscribe before you start handing out my lunch money.”

“Of course! I’ll just walk you through our opt-out process. It’s super simple.”

“Define ‘simple’.”

“You just need to complete five certified acts of anonymous goodwill, get them signed off by our Happiness Audit Team, then fill out Form D-42-B—in blue ink, not black—and submit a two-paragraph reflection on what you learned about yourself. See? Simple!”

“Is this... a prank?”

“Of course not! Don’t you know our motto? ‘Be the sunshine you want to see in other people’s weather’. We just love a little compassion. And this is actually a very good way to make people more aware about each other.”

“Right… Can I at least choose the next act of kindness I’m apparently funding?”

“Well, they’re randomized. But I can tell you what’s coming up next in your queue!”

“Please enlighten me.”

“Oh! You’re sponsoring a set of motivational rubber ducks for Dr. Trina—she’s a dentist who recently started crying mid-cleaning. Her assistant submitted the request anonymously.”

“I mean… okay, that one’s actually kind of touching. But still. Ducks?”

“Each one says something different! Like ‘You quack me up’ or ‘Floss like a boss’.”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation–”

“Oh Josh! You’re gonna love this. Next in line you’re sponsoring a mariachi band to play ‘Eye of the Tiger’ for a gym teacher’s retirement party!”

“Lady I–”

“He has been working at the same school for 25 years. Kids love him! So the community submitted a Thank You-tion.”

“A what now?”

“Thank You-tion. Like a thank-you… but with emotion. It's a package tier we offer.”

“Of course it is.”

“And the next one is so good! You’re funding matching friendship bracelets for two lunch ladies who haven’t spoken in years! Would you like to learn more about them?”

“Oh dear God! Yeah, go ahead.”

“So—picture this. Frances and Loretta. Besties since ’92. Sloppy joe legends. Worked in the middle school cafeteria line like a well-oiled gravy machine.”

“Uh-huh. Then what?”

“The Great Tater Tot Incident of 2014 happened.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I would never joke about cafeteria betrayal. Anyway, they had a falling out. One switched to paper trays. The other joined Team Plastic. It’s been radio silence ever since. So—enter you! You're funding custom friendship bracelets. Frances’s says 'You tot me well.' Loretta’s says 'Still mashed about you.' They're being hand-delivered with a glittery note that just says, 'Lunch is better together'.”

“I paid real money for this.”

“You invested in healing, Josh.”

“Okay, I have to admit… the bracelet thing is oddly sweet. But why do I feel like all of them worked together in the same school?”

“Right? We call that one ‘Operation Reheat the Friendship.’ It has a surprisingly high success rate. One janitor even cried. But I’m afraid I can’t disclose more info about our community, Josh. You get that, right? Safety reasons.”

“I see. And then what’s next–therapy pigeons? A gratitude kazoo orchestra?”

“Close! You’re sponsoring a llama Zoom call for a 7-year-old’s birthday party. She originally wanted Taylor Swift but the budget said ‘Therapeutic Livestock’.”

“Don’t make me laugh…”

“Oh, I’m dead serious about it.”

“Listen, I get you’re excited, it sounds lovely. But I have to tell you. It’s 8:37am, I’m in a coffee shop trying to focus on work. You know the boring stuff? Yeah, lots of spreadsheets to fill and update. I was in a very bad mood last night, your ad was quite misleading, and now–”

“Now you won’t believe it!”

“...what?”

“You’ve just been… kinded.”

“I’m sorry–what?”

“You’ve been selected as the recipient of a random act of kindness! Fully funded. No bracelets. No glitter. No ducks. Just… someone thinking you deserved a moment.”

“Wait. Someone paid to be nice… to me?”

“Yep! This is what we do here, remember? We are nice to each other, even to random strangers we’ve never met–and never will. It’s anonymous, but I can read you what they wrote.”

“Please.”

“To whoever’s behind this phone call: I don’t know you, but I hope your coffee’s hot, your inbox is quiet, and something mysteriously good happens to you today. You matter. Even on Tuesdays."

“That’s… interesting. And what is the act of kindness, may I ask?”

“Two dozen of your favorite pastries—plus one mystery donut. We call it the Existential Glazed.”

“This is... weirdly the nicest thing that’s happened to me.”

“Weird and nice is kind of our thing.”

“Hey Melissa, maybe this is what I signed up for.”