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This is a question Random Acts of Kindness

Crackhouseceilidhband asks: Has anyone ever been nice to you, out of the blue, for no reason? Have you ever helped an old lady across the road, even if she didn't want to? Make me believe that the world is a better place than the media and experience suggest

(, Thu 9 Feb 2012, 13:03)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Random acts of kindness
I once toppled out of the Library Bar at the Edinburgh festival and said loudly, "I could really use some drugs". Seconds later Phil Kay cycled up on a chopper and said " Here you go", handing me a bag of pot. Then he cycled off into the night before I could say anything. Yay!
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 23:09, 2 replies)
I once gave a complete stranger
The most memorable fuck of her life. Her account of it to the police was remarkably thorough.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 22:57, 6 replies)
The nurses at the nursing home where my dad passed on. (edit: Lack of Funnies Warning)
They are incredible. I'm not sure about giving peoples names here but needless to say they were all brilliant the personal nurses who looked after my dad were professional, caring, kind, funny and loving. They also looked after my mum, and me, with the same level of care. We went back today to get his stuff and goddam it they way they were with my mum was heart-wrenching. I would never have got through with out them.

They got us all through a horrible time in the best way possible. Now if you'll excuse me i have something in my eye.

fuck it, they've earned naming. Aldingham Nursing Home, nr Ulverston, you are incredible.

(second edit: sod yer random acts, it was kindness.)
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 21:48, 1 reply)
I helpfully point out to Christian's that god isn't real.
And that they needn't fear the afterlife because there isn't any.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 21:22, 12 replies)
I selflessly help people who stutter finish their sentences.

(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 21:20, 5 replies)
Swimming Instructor
As a young boy, I was absolutely terrified of learning to swim. I would sit at home cross-legged infront of the sofa and read books like the ’Ladybird book of swimming’ and think of it as a manual, like any budding geek. But, as soon as I got near a swimming pool, the smell of chlorine would have my heart hammering away. It was as scary as the smell of a dentist's surgery or the sight of wrapped needles in a Doctor's.

But, I was pretty determined to learn and my Mother submerged me (no pun intended) in twice weekly lessons. It seemed to me that I was always at the pool after school, walking nervously out of the changing rooms with my arm bands as fully inflated as I could get them and a huge ’float’ under my arm.

This story is about an instructor at the pool who patiently, every lesson, would hold the float infront of me and tell me sincerely that he would not let go of it while I splashed my feet and fearfully concentrated on keeping my head well above water. In retrospect, the man's patience was extradinary. Against the impatience of my bored Mother in the spectator’s gallery (who insisted like any Indian ’tiger’ mother that I ’should be doing better’) he never pushed me to do more, but waited until I volunteered to go to the next level. Because he never broke his promise and respected me that ’I’ knew when the time was right, I trusted him in return. Each step was a huge leap, like doing the breast stroke with arm bands, but with the float within reach, and slowly getting further away from it.
The penultimate step, was swimming without arm bands but with him holding both his hands under my chest as I paddled along. I can’t tell you how long it was between our first lesson until this point, but it must have been several months.

To this day, I remember the moment in the shallow end of the Borhamwood Swimming pool as I was swimming towards the side after countless repetitions. Paying patient attention like he had been for ages, he must have noticed that all fear had left me and without saying a word, he let his hands fall away from me and I was swimming for the first time in my life. I remember feeling esctatic, like I had just learned how to fly. From then on, you couldn’t keep me out of the pool and within a few years, I even joined the school swimming team

I said this story is about the instructor. I don’t know how old he was..to my young eyes he was an ’adult’, he could have been a teenager. Nor can I remember what he looks like. But I know to this day that his name is Ken. I know this because the next time I visited the pool, he presented me with a tiny ’winners cup’. It’s made of proper metal with a black base and although it has two handles (like any big trophy) it’s only about 4 inches high. On it, he had engraved My full name and his, and the date when I finally learned to swim.

It was the the kindest thing he could have done. As an instructor employed by the pool, he could have just gone on to the next kid.. But, he knew that learning to swim was the first ’big’ achievement of my life and he treated it as such

40+ years later, I still have that little cup. I wish could find him and thank him for what he did: his patience with a very scared boy, ignoring a stupidly impatient Mother, and most of all understanding and respectfully recognising how proud that little boy felt.

I might add, my Mother can’t swim to this day...
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 20:32, 8 replies)
I've saved every woman in the world
the cost of a Valentine's Day card.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 20:14, 1 reply)
Since I've now admitted in another post to being a crusty old tramp for while,
I'll tell of a charming old fellow who stopped to chat with me while I was cooking a scabby rat (something cheap, maybe spam on a stick) on my campfire.
At this time I was resident in a layby near Downham Market in Norfolk, enjoying the golden splendors of autumn in the fens. I'd been there for about a month, working occasionally with the veg pickers/packers and had all mod cons in my site, to wit, some public bogs and a nice riverside location under some trees with a daily chips and burger van.
Even the local village cop used to drop by and chat, no malice and no hint of getting moved on.

One afternoon an old boy stopped in his Allegro (or replace with alternative old codger-mobile of your choice here) to use the crappers and afterwards wandered over to tell me that he'd noticed me there before.
"Oh great" I thought, -here we fucking go again-, "I've called the council and they'll soon have you removed sonny Jim"-
But it was none of the usual, he sat on a picnic bench, pulled out his pipe and chatted with me for about an hour; asking a lot of questions and not really making much comment on my answers.
We talked of his life too and his time in a POW camp in the war and other adventures, perhaps he was lonely, he told me he was a widower.
Then as suddenly as he had arrived, he stood up, bid me a good day and buggered off, wishing me luck with the future.

The next day the guy who ran the burger van appeared with a bagged meal of healthy sandwiches and a some good old fashioned greasy burgers and chips.
Handing them over with a big grin, he gave me an envelope with 50 quid in it and explained that the old feller had left instructions to give this to me, feed me and offer his best wishes again.
"He paid for the food too, but that's on me mate, so here's another tenner".

No note, no name and I never saw him again. I'll never forget though.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 19:24, 9 replies)
Hail Seizure!...

Many moons ago I was but a fleeting young Cheeky, and my only skill consisted of being a bit of a techno-geek (as in technology and suchlike, not the ‘boom-boom-bloody-boom’ music sort of thing)

In any case, one day, my parents had decided to buy a new telly, due to the unforeseen circumstances of their previous one bursting into flames. (This was the olden days, remember – that used to happen a lot)

Anyhoo, in their ultimate wisdom they took me along, for my ‘expert’ 14-year-old opinion on what would constitute fulfilling the bare requirement of a 'bargain-tastic new-fangled TV-a-tron'.

One megastore later, as I wandered around the electrical shop pretending to know what I was doing, we were distracted by a 'bit of a kerfuffle'…

A young girl, about 10 years old…started positively freaking out by the wall of televisions that tends to line such establishments. Screaming wildly with arms flailing, the poor kid was acting as if she was either being electrocuted, demoniacally possessed, or could just no longer contain her excitement at the sheer magnitude of shoddy blenders and wotnot on special offer.

Her poor flustered mum didn’t know what to do – so she opted to 'flap a bit'.

Displaying the very worst type of human nature, like when driving slowly past a car crash, the entire population of the store decided to stand perfectly still…and cowardly observe what was to transpire. For fuck's sake, I could’ve sold popcorn to the amount of lazy-arsed, agog faces, gawping away as they turned their heads away from their potential purchases so they could watch the events unfold.

My Dad, however, had other ideas. Like a crusty, slightly wiffy old superhero, he decided to pause on humouring my increasingly fumbling ‘expertise’, and he strolled straight up to the poor girl and his distraught mother.

As the little lass continued to gibber endlessly, everyone else just stood and stared. I did too. If this had happened nowadays there would probably be phonecam videos of it on youtube…but nonetheless, everybody stayed rooted to the spot as my Dad cheerily approached them, and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Are you alright love?” He enquired, as the girl uncontrollably wibbled. The distraught mum seemed quite stunned as she watched this bumbling old fellla amble over in the middle of a crisis…but immediately, before anyone could comment, the girl started to calm somewhat in the presence of this total stranger.

“Would you like a sit down?” my Dad then enquired, before heaving some big object over (using the strength that only Dads have - it could have been a MASSIVE fridge, but might have been a chair), and reassuringly ushered the poor girl towards it.

She nodded her head tentatively, and started the slow journey towards being compos mentis.

The flummoxed young mum was obviously still startled, but she soon composed herself, stepped in and joined my Dad as everybody looked on, watching this blithering old fart involve himself…and completely take control of the situation. Thankfully, the girl continued to slowly calm down.

However, at this point, (if I remember correctly it was the store assistant manager…but either way he was some cunting lickspittle), decided to assume that my Dad must somehow be related to the poor girl, who must only be throwing a big girlie tantrum, and he promptly decided that he didn't want such an embarrassing display driving his precious customers away. He approached my Dad, straightened his corporate badge and barked: “Oi!, You!” before pointing his finger at the door and exclaiming: “Get her out of here!”

Now - I cannot state enough - my Dad is a kindly, wisend old bell-end who has lived a bit, and thusly it takes a lot to rile him. However, the actions of this insensitive management mongoloid seemed to be almost precisely the exact amount of wankerishness it takes to boil my old man's piss. He manoeuvred the girl's frantic mother closer towards her daughter and clasped their hands together, before briefly leaving his post to step away; just a couple of strides towards the utter fucking twat who was thinking of nothing but his sales figures.

To this day I can’t remember how something spoken so quietly by such an unassuming man could be so intimidating. But Lorks…I mean, I nearly shat a brick, and I was only ‘watching from the wings’ as it were. I’m afraid my typed words do not do justice to the next thing that happened…My Dad calmly stepped towards the ass manager, looked him straight into his beady eyes and said:

“She will leave when she’s ready……but as for you……..you will fuck off…...NOW!”

The jobsworth jobbie proceeded to take huge backward steps in the fashion of someone who had just found a freshly severed horse head in his underpants drawer. Visibly crumbling like a freshly attacked World Trade Centre, the shop assistant simply slithered away and melted into the background, as some onlookers dared to glare at him from afar.

My Dad then turned and went back to the girl and his mother, speaking gently, yet confidently, and over a few minutes, managed to calm everybody down and then accompany the girl and her mother to their car. Ensuring their safety, he then passed on his phone number to the mother so she could call him and let him know how the young girl was doing. With the panic now subdued, the mother burst into floods of appreciative tears – heartily thanking my Dad for his heroic assistance. He merely beamed at her and answered: “No problem love. now if you don’t mind, I have to get back inside before my lad makes me fork out for some bloody crap over-sized telly”

The mother duly called later. It turns out that the girl was diagnosed epileptic, but her previous seizures had only been very mild. However, the strobe-like flashing of a veritable wall of TV’s managed to set her off like a cheap Chinese firework. It was a very real, proper emergency, yet nobody thought to do anything…except my Dad.

I was already proud of him…that was just some more icing on the cake.

To round this off, I would dearly like to big my Dad up some more with something like: 'Of course, this behaviour was natural for him because he used to be a Colonel in the army’ or ‘He used to be a Doctor / Psychiatrist’, or even something like, ‘He’s built like a brick shithouse’, but I’m afraid I can’t. He’s just a normal sized guy who, before he retired, was a forklift truck driver in a shitty warehouse in Coventry. However, He just so happens to be quite staggeringly good with people – and I consider that a genuine gift - so I won't try to add any more facts, bullshit or credence to my tale. He is just a quite phenomenal human being.

…but I still call him a silly old bugger.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 17:02, 10 replies)
Last September
I was on my way back from Snowdonia. It was raining, hard. I was on the A5 from Bala trying to turn off for the turn off for Ruthin. Me and My girlfriend encountered a road closure due to an accident up ahead. We stopped in the queue for a few minutes whilst the police man in a heavy waterproof mack walked up to our window and explained the issue and the ETA until it was clear. It would be a while before this road was re-opened. It was pitch black and rainsoaked headlights and flashing Blue police cars lined the road off into the distance.

Being in a remote part of wales, to get to where we wanted would mean a massive 60 mile detour. So i got my GPS out and headed for the back roads. These roads were tiny - the width of a car with grass down the centre. you could go 15mph - max.. these roads were for the use of the farmers.

It was still pouring.

There was a junction every 40 yrds, these backroads were like a labrynth, with nothing but headlights for ilumination it was quite frightening.

Then i came across a car up ahead. He had his hazards on, I pulled up behind and waited. A woman got out with her coat over her head and ran over. She was in her 60's and a bit distressed. The rain was crackling on my roof as she walked over.

She explained she had been driving round and couldnt find her way back to the main road around the accident. I offered to drive in front, and her to follow as we were heading in the same direction.

And off we went, round tight bends, over bumps, navigating broken down branches, and - also - driving over dozens of Frogs in the puddle ladened roads- it has to be noted. Quite an odd night. It took about 25 mins before we saw normal sized roads. With out a GPS this was an impossible route.

We reached the main road, the tarmac smoothed out, I wound my window down and waved the lady good bye.... a flash of headlights from behind signalled a thankyou.

10 miles down the road - still in the pitch dark and rain, and with the detour now out of my mind. I pull up at a set of Traffic lights...

It was one of those Roadwork Traffic lights with a large gap in between meaning the lights stay on red for a while... the rain carried on tipping down...


A dark Rain soaked figure was at my window

I sh@t my pants...

The woman I had helped smiling and saying things that sounded mostly like thankyous..

I smiled.. my pulse died down, it wasnt a murderer after me.

And off we both went in our seperate ways.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 16:52, 1 reply)
I had all but forgotten about this one...
It was many years ago- about 1983 or so, I think- when I was living in Rochester NY. I was young and naive, and also utterly broke. I had no car, so my only mode of transportation was either walking or taking the city bus.

One late afternoon I was walking along a street when I saw ahead of me a young woman who was talking in agitated tones on a pay phone. Suddenly she slammed down the phone on the hook and screamed "Oh FUCK!"

She turned and saw my startled expression and wailed, "Can you help me?!?"

I took in her disheveled appearance and look of wild distress and said, "Sure, if I can. What's going on?"

"I have to be home in a half hour and I don't know how to get there!"

I asked where she lived, and knew where the bus was that was headed in that direction, and knew that it was just about to leave. I grabbed her hand. "Come on!"

We ran for about five blocks and got to the bus stop just as it was about to pull away. I lunged for the door and wheezed our destination to the driver, handed over change and dragged the panting girl to a seat. We flopped down and caught our breath, and exchanged names as we laughed.

We got to her stop and I got off with her. By now she was giving me the hero worship look and holding my hand tightly and told me that she wanted to see me again. I agreed, as she was rather cute, so we exchanged numbers and she headed up a walkway.

...to a halfway house for psych patients.

I found my bus home and muttered under my breath the whole way.

Never did hear from her again...
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 16:26, 4 replies)
I did this

what i was gonna say was REALLY bad
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 16:21, 6 replies)
Last Saturday night
I was waiting to collect my wife outside of someone's house where she'd been babysitting. True to form she was taking ages to come out to the car so I turned the engine off (I didn't want to leave my engine running in case I disturbed the neighbours.) and shivered in the freezing gloom, and began to scratch an itch on my forehead that had been bothering me for most of the journey.

Suddenly there was a knock on the window, and outside was a man peering in at me.

"You alright mate?" he said, his voice full of concern after I buzzed the window down.

He'd seen me with my head bowed in the car and thought I was crying about something. I assured him that I was indeed fine and thanked him anyway, and he went on his way off into the night. But I thought that was a nice thing to do.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 16:02, 2 replies)
Kind of kindness
How many of us would confront a thieving scrote, on behalf of some stranger? My mate* Matt would, and because he filmed it, it's gone a bit mad on the internet.

If you know this bloke, give him a stern talking-to and then shop him to the police.

* - I once sat next to him in a restaurant. So if that's not being matey, I don't know what is.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 15:20, 14 replies)
I once didn't call an entire internet messageboard a load of spastics for saying 'random' when they meant 'unexpected.'

(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 14:50, 9 replies)
There is an old boy who lives nearby
And after the last really cold spell I noticed he had milk bottles piling up outside. I went to check and could see the newspapers in a big heap just inside under the letter box.

So I managed to get hold of the milk man and the paper shop and cancelled both of the orders as he was obviously not needing them.

Never even got a thankyou from him or anything

Bindun? Can't be arsed looking
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 13:32, Reply)
it was naffing cold on friday night
and i had in the depths of the cupboard a SLIGHTLY leaky but serviceable thermos.
this now belongs to the young guy who sometimes sits across the road from the soup kitchen.
obv it was useless as just an empty thermos and so i filled it with hot tea, and gave him a small bag of sugar. i was in a shitty mood and had had a shitty day, i figured it's best to turn that into something positive, right?
he's actually a decent, previously self-employed dude who's been hit by the recession. he's sober, polite, never relly asks for money, and form talking to him a few times, he's actually properly trying to get back on his feet.
he also ended up with a blanket and some spare clothes in the last cold snap from me too, and some assorted cold and flu meds when he was hacking away just after christmas.
i think above all he appreciates the conversation, and the fact i remember his name, and ask what he's been up to.
there's been times where but for the kindness of friends, i'd have been in the same position. and considering i'm a horrible cunt the rest of the time, i figure it's about time i did something decent, all told.
next time, don't just autmoatically reach for the change in your pocket. it doesn't always help in the way you intend. blankets, food, warmth, and above all being treated like a human being always trumps a few sweaty coppers and no eye contact.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 13:03, 11 replies)
My brother and his mates once cut off a drug dealer's head with a samurai sword as an act of kindness to the local police.
They were so pleased they didn't investigate and kept the story out of all the papers as well.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 12:19, 10 replies)
Trained Counsellor
I was sitting on a station platform one day, when a woman came up the steps and sat down on the next bench, all the while weeping and moaning to herself. Everyone on the platform tried to pretend she wasn't there - this is England, after all; public displays of emotion make us uncomfortable.

She continued wailing and crying, all the while muttering to herself through her sobs, though I couldn't make out what she was saying. Then an announcement came over the PA: "Please stand clear of the edge of the platform, as the next train does not stop at this station". The express to London was coming through.

Hearing the announcement, the woman immediately stood up and headed purposefully toward the tracks. I got a strong feeling that we had a jumper, so I told my kids to stay put and hurried over to intercept her.

I was pleased to see that another guy had had the same thought, and we met her before she got to the edge. He went to get the station staff, while I tried to talk to her. All I got back was a torrent of abuse, but that was fine by me, since I was between her and the train which was now thundering through the station behind me.

No idea what her problem was, but I didn't hear of any train-strikes over the next few days so I guess she made it.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 11:59, 4 replies)
Ten years ago, my mum took an overdose
She walked to the beach so she could die listening to the sounds of the sea.

A lady walking her dog realised that there was something wrong and called an ambulence. She stayed with mum until it got there, talking to her and keeping her awake. Then she went on her way.

Lady, I have absolutely no idea who you are, but you saved my mum's life that day. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for noticing, for caring, and for doing the right thing. I've always wanted to tell you that, but I have no idea what you even look like. Thank you.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 11:32, 5 replies)
There's a blind fellow that lives in my block.
When I popped out to the off license a couple of weeks ago, he collared me and asked me to check his texts and tell him who his missed call was from. This was excruciating as one of his texts was from someone really having a go at him. I had to read out a message telling him he was a selfish, useless cunt who never thought about anyone but himself.

In a random act of kindness I then agreed to walk him to one of the shittest pubs in Bethnal Green (quite an accolade), all the way hearing about how great it was when Millwall and West Ham fans all 'kicked off'. The previous week he made my girlfriend walk her to the same pub and regaled her with complaints about how the area has too many 'Joe Daki's' nowadays.

The fucking blind cunt.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 11:22, 7 replies)
Friendly London
I think I might have posted this one before, but I'm not sure.

Many years ago I lived and worked in London.

One sunny day, I was doing my weekly bigshop in the Tesco that was on my drive home (the one by Coppets Woods, just off the North Circular in Finchley, fact fans). It was a Tuesday at about 5:30, so everyone in there seemed to be like me, doing a weekly shop for themselves on the way home from work.

I'd got my week's worth of food and found a checkout with only one person in the queue.

The person in question was a fairly good-looking woman in her early 20's in an expensive-looking business suit with a trolley full of Tesco Value stuff. This stuck me as a bit odd. The next thing that stuck me as a bit odd was she was unloading her trolley by going down her shopping list and putting each item on the belt in order, so was taking a while.

When everything was scanned and bagged, the checkout woman told this lass how much it was and the lass handed over one of those clear bankbags with some money in it.

The checkout woman counted out the cash and said "not enough", pushing the money back towards the lass. The lass looked confused for a minute and said "it should be enough". The checkout woman said "well, it's not". The lass aid "but what can I do?".

Now, it was clear to me that this lass had a learning difficulty of some desription. from what I could see, someone had given her a list of everything she needed and the money to pay for it. Which would imply she couldn't work this stuff out for herself. There was something about the way she spoke that was a bit of a giveaway as well.

Anyway, the panic set in for this poor lass. The checkout woman had told her that she would either need to make up the full amount or put something back. The lass was picking things out of her bags, looking at her list, then putting them back in the bag, clearly not being able to decide what to do. All the while, the checkout woman was constantly tutting and sighing, like "Tut, hurrr. Tut, hurrr. Tut, hurrr" and so on.

So I said to the lass "have you not got enough money, love?". She just looked away and looked like she might start to cry. So I said to the checkout woman "has she not got enough?" and stuck my hand in my pocket, pulling out a handful of shrapnel. The checkout woman stared at me open mouthed for a second and said no. I said "right, I'll cover it, how much do you need?" again, the checkout woman just stared at me like I'd grown a second head and said "what? why? it's 8 pence" so I gave her a 10p said "you can keep the change for the next person who comes up short".

The poor lass mumbled "thanks" and scuttled off, clutching her shopping. The whole time I was running my bigshop through the till, the checkout woman staring at me like I'd just done the most amazing magic trick she'd ever seen. When she handed me my recipt, she actually "did you know her?", I said no, she looked even more incredulous and said "then why did you do that?" I just walked away at that point.

I felt good at first for helping out someone in need, then felt very sad that she needed my help and the woman was so shocked that I showed a little bit of humanity.

Eight fucking pence.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 10:18, 23 replies)
The Warhammer nerd.
Back when I was at school there were two Scottish kids by the name of David and James McKinnon, who due to their mismatched sizes and general Scottishness were nicknamed Wee Mac and Big Jock respectively.
Mac was in my year, and was a pretty good friend of mine, while Jock was 2 years older, and a good 12 inches taller.
I wasn't much of a fan of Jock; he could needlessly rag on his little brother sometimes, and it upset me to see Mac in floods of incoherent Scottish tears over his older sibling's latest slight. I guess, looking back, that he was really no different to any older brother ever, but being an only child I'd never experienced inter-sibling rivalry until now.
Mac was a fan of Warhammer figurines. He didn't play the game, since we were only 14 and knew no-one else who could play with us, but he still collected them whenever his pocket money allowed, and he'd perfected his painting skills to the point where they actually looked pretty damn good.
It was inevitable that, sooner or later, they'd be a target for his brother.
Mac called me, in floods of Scottish tears again, saying that his latest project had gone missing. He had recently bought an Ork king; a big guy with a flag and a ceremonial sword and blah blah blah. He'd nearly finished painting it when he'd come home to find it gone.
Jock was the obvious culprit, so (incredibly now I come to think about it) I confronted him. I pointed out that bullying was all well and good, but these things cost a lot of money, and Mac had already poured about 15 hours into painting it.
Jock pretty much laughed in my face, but still told me where it was; in the wood behind his house. He and a friend had taken it and an air-rifle and gone for a spot of target practice.
Rather than telling Mac that his brother was a complete dick, I figured I'd go get it myself and return it. It was already getting dark, and I didn't relish the thought of walking through the woods at night, so I sprinted there.
Or, to put it another way, I ran to Mac's Ork highness.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 9:57, 12 replies)
When I was 8 or 9
I found an old lady's purse right outside the entrance to a retirement home near where I live. It had £40 in it.

I was very kind to myself and my brother when I blew the lot on sweets over the course of about a month.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 9:56, 1 reply)
I once considered returning some lost property.
Apparently this makes me Mother fucking Theresa.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 9:47, 6 replies)
I gave an old lady my Seat on the way to work this morning.
It was a fucking shit car anyway, hopefully she'll have more luck with it that I did.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 8:48, Reply)
a test of one's moral stamina
last week i found somebody's purse which still had money inside it. i went home, promptly found her on facebook, messaged her and waited.

i am absolutely certain this is the woman. she has an unusual surname, a university of sheffield card and a receipt for a ross noble concert that all matched things on the page.

she's not replied.

my conscience says no no. my empty bank account screams yes yes.
(, Mon 13 Feb 2012, 2:00, 16 replies)
Why do so many posters believe in "instant karma"?
(, Sun 12 Feb 2012, 23:48, 14 replies)
Fresher's week, Birmingham, 2005
I went out on a scheduled fresher's night out and got really really drunk. By the time I was in a taxi I discovered I'd run out of money so steered the driver to a cashpoint in Harborne (I've worked out since that it must have been there) and between throwing up at the cashpoint (and in the taxi), a mystery man helped me into the taxi and stayed in the taxi with me back to my halls of residence. Apart from photo evidence of my flatmates drawing on me in permanent marker, this is the only memory of the night I have. Thank you kind sir, thank you.
(, Sun 12 Feb 2012, 23:33, 1 reply)
I politely correct bad grammar on the internet
I feel it makes the world a better place.
(, Sun 12 Feb 2012, 23:01, 9 replies)

This question is now closed.

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