Do a Good Deed Daily

If you’ve been reading my posts regularly, you know that I am both a liar and a thief. Or was, anyway. In my youth. And a little in my adulthood, I suppose. But, no matter, because today I’m going to write about an experience that puts me in a better light, exposes me as the better person I think I am.

My girlfriend Chris and I are on one of our vacations. I believe it is to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. On this trip, we have charged ourselves with two daily goals. Each day of our week-long vacation we must:

1. Start a conversation with a complete stranger; and
2. Do a good deed.

Every day.

Now, as a former staffer of a local council of the Boy Scouts of America, I am well-acquainted with their slogan, “Do a good turn daily.” But starting a conversation with a stranger? Just thinking about this directive makes me anxious. I’m shy by nature. An introvert. I am completely uncomfortable with this task. How does one start a conversation with a stranger anyway?

“Hey, stranger! I noticed how humongous your feet are. Where do you get your shoes?”

“Yo, stranger! I have an itch on my back that I can’t reach. Would you mind scratching it for me?”

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation, stranger, but, gee, isn’t the weather wonderful today?”

But we are trying to be better people. We think that by assigning ourselves these goals and executing them, we will indeed become better human beings. We’ll see.

It’s our first day and we head to a nearby national park and check out the activities posted at the canteen. As I’m browsing through the gift shop, I overhear a young couple pleading with the cashier to take their credit card or a personal check as payment. The cashier shrugs and apologizes that he cannot.

The couple, deflated, exits the log-cabin-like shop and stands on the porch just outside. I follow the couple outside and approach them.

“What’s the matter?” I initiate.  Yahoo! I’ve done it! I’ve done it! I’ve done it! And, I beat Chris!

“We’re on our honeymoon,” the attractive, young, blond woman answers. “And we’re signed up to go on this boat ride, but the park will only accept cash and we’re not carrying any cash… The boat leaves in about ten minutes,” she explains.

“Congratulations on your wedding,” I begin. “How much is the boat ride?” I ask, an idea formulating in my mind.

“Ten bucks each,” they respond in unison.

“Do you have a checkbook?” I already know the answer because I was eavesdropping just a minute ago.

“Yes, I do,” the woman answers hopefully.

“Why don’t you make out a check to me and I’ll give you twenty dollars?” I propose. Who knew I would be so darn good at this?

“Oh, my gosh!” The woman gushes. “That would be so great!” I’m about twenty years older than the young bride. Old enough to be her mother. I feel like a mom.

She writes me a check for twenty dollars, writing her phone number on the top since it isn’t printed on the check, and hands it to me.

“It’s still in my maiden name but the checks are still good,” she explains. She suggests I cash it within the next few weeks because she’s going to be closing the account now that she’s married.

“This is so great! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She gushes some more.

Her new husband, who has been mostly observing our transaction, offers me his thanks as well. They’re a cute couple. I wish them a good time on the boat ride and a happy life together.

So, I’ve done this out of the goodness of my heart, right? Except now, as the young couple races toward the water where their boat is waiting, I immediately turn, searching for Chris. Why? To brag, of course! I started a conversation and did a good deed at one time, in the early hours of the first day of our vacation. I’m too, too proud of myself.

Chris is both impressed and depressed. How will she ever measure up? I’m a little worried myself. How will I ever match this stupendous act of kindness tomorrow? And the next day, and the next… I’ve set the bar too high, too early.

Well, I can tell you that neither of us measured up. That was the first and last good deed of the trip. It was also the last conversation I initiated with a stranger that on the vacation. I’m sure Chris, who is much more outgoing and curious than me, had to have started some conversations with strangers during those seven days. To give you an idea of how uninhibited Chris is about starting conversations, when we were in Santa Fe, New Mexico one time, Chris asked our hotel clerk why she had her tongue pierced. You know, questions we all want to ask but are too polite to.

I get back home from Jackson Hole and I have no intention of cashing the check. That would cheapen my good deed, wouldn’t it? Instead, I frame the check and put it on a shelf in my home. On display. As though I never do good deeds, but this is the one time I did. Look, people! A good deeder and a braggart, that’s me. It’s probably not a good deed if you boast about it later.

A year or so later, I’m dusting my shelves. (Just kidding. I never dust the shelves.) I look at the framed check and think to myself that maybe it wasn’t such a good deed after all. Banks want you to balance your checkbook and record any outstanding checks before they let you close an account. My poor good deed recipient may have had some real problems closing her account…

The maiden name of my very Irish good deed victim is Erin Colleen Keeley from Boulder, Colorado. Let me know if you know her. I’d like to apologize for my good deed.