I was walking to the pub from work one rainy evening across the green bridge in Canary Wharf, London, when I saw a fat, intoxicated yob intentionally shove into a fairly nerdy looking guy who was walking along with his girlfriend. He stopped, accused the nerdy guy of pushing him, and then gave him a volley of abuse. What followed was one of those moments so perfect, so full of justice and humor, you can’t believe you witnessed it. And it made a great story in the pub.
The fat guy took a huge swing at the nerdy guy, slipped because it was raining and completely missed, ending up in a flustered mess on the floor. The nerdy guy looked bewildered, and his girlfriend was desperately trying to drag him away, but he stood his ground. The fat guy, angered further by his embarrassing fall, got back up and took another swing, which nerdy guy dodged. Again, fat guy slipped and fell to his knees.
Nerdy guy, apparently as ruthless as he was good at dodging punches, saw this as a great opportunity to get the whole mess over with. He smacked the fat guy right in the face with a sweet jab—one of those punches that makes a satisfying thwack sound. Fat guy went down once and for all, sprawled on the bridge in the rain, while nerdy guy took his girl’s hand and they carried on their merry way. Meanwhile, I headed on to the pub and had a pint in his honor.
Beautiful. Just beautiful. Mother nature really said, Don’t worry, little nerd. I got this.
Second story. I was out for dinner with my then fiance, now wife, and her dad, now my father-in-law. He’s a bit of a schmuck to her—they got divorced and remarried, he loves those kids more than my wife, gives her crap over too many things, etc. So, at the end of dinner, father-in-law offers to pay for the meal.
Okay, that’s nice. My wife asks to get her leftovers boxed and she’ll take them home. He starts with, Well, you’ll just leave them in the fridge. Then they’ll get thrown out, blah, blah, blah.
I tell him, Listen, it’s not your fridge. Leave her alone. She and I live together at this point. He gets all mad.
Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter. I reply, Then don’t speak to my fiance that way. He literally throws the bill folder at me and says, Fine, you freaking pay then, and storms out. Now everyone is mad.
My fiance is saying, Why did you have to start something? So, I pay the bill and I’m just waiting for the receipt. Like, we’re waiting ten minutes here. What the hell is going on?
Tensions are rising, her dad is waiting outside just building up steam and ready to blow once we get out there. I ask the waiter, Can I just get our bill and go? Oh, no, sir, you have to wait for the manager. Turns out they have a contest running where every bill is a winner.
Normally, you’d win a free drink or appetizer with your next meal. Well, we won the freaking grand prize—a trip for four to Florida. Whoever pays gets the prize. Well, guess what, schmuck?
I paid because you stormed out like a baby. Karma’s a witch. Third story. I was in the passing lane in the highway slowly coming up on a couple of cars in the right lane.
The speed limit was about to decrease ahead, and another car came up behind me going pretty fast. Instead of gassing it to get ahead of the traffic to my right, I slowed down and pulled in behind them, with the car behind me right on my bumper. Once I got into the right lane, the car floored it and passed me honking the horn, the passenger half out of the window yelling at me and flipping me off as they passed. Turns out the car I pulled in behind was an unmarked state trooper who promptly pulled them over.
Justice. Fourth story. I used to be such a schmuck with a six-year-old. One time I was on a bus with my older brother coming home from soccer practice.
We were seated at the back right next to the big rear window. For some odd reason, I thought it’d be funny to show traffic behind us all the angles my middle finger while staring at them with the most obnoxious facial expressions. I’d wait until the bus got to a stop, then proceed to do my thing when the bus shut its door and accelerated away. I got bored because most people would just ignore it, and the reactions weren’t as amusing, so I decided my game needed more thrill.
Instead of flipping off oncoming traffic, my main target changed to pedestrians. Here’s where it goes wrong. The bus got to a stop, picked up the waiting people, and I had found my new target—a very buff black man. As I heard my cue, which was the noise of the doors closing, I proceeded to up my game by showing him both of my fingers and sticking out my tongue.
This guy, built like an athlete, looking mad as hell, didn’t think it was all that funny. He sprinted alongside the bus, matching its speed for at least a block, until the bus arrived at the next stop. The bus was not that packed, but the people in it witnessed this big chunk of rage giving chase and getting onto the bus. I cowered behind my brother’s back in tears, who’d up until now been oblivious to my shenanigans.
Turns out the black guy was pretty cool about it and just told me not to do it again. He even gave me a piece of bubble gum afterwards. Fifth story. I was a ten dollar an hour employee at a ski resort, so it wasn’t exactly like I was rolling in money.
Most of my paycheck went straight to rent, groceries, gas, and whatever little bit I could save after that. One day while I was working, I found a wallet just sitting there. I picked it up, opened it just enough to see if there was an ID,and right away noticed there was a huge stack of cash inside, like five hundred dollars. For someone making ten dollars an hour, that was a lot of money—basically a whole week of work just sitting in my hand.
For a second, I’ll be honest, my brain did the math. I could have really used that money. But I also knew somebody was probably freaking out somewhere, especially at a ski resort where people are traveling, paying for rooms, food, rentals, lift tickets—losing a wallet there would ruin someone’s whole trip. So, I turned it in exactly how I found it.
Later that day, I got called to the office. At first, I thought maybe I was in trouble for something stupid because usually when management calls you in, it’s not for fun. But when I got there, the man who owned the wallet was waiting. He looked so relieved, like he had been expecting the cash to be gone.
He thanked me over and over and said he couldn’t believe everything was still inside. Then he pulled out a hundred dollar bill and gave it to me as a reward. I tried to say he didn’t have to, but he insisted. For him, it was probably just a thank you.
For me, that was ten hours of work in one moment. Honestly, it felt really good. I did the right thing when nobody was watching,and karma came back fast. Sixth story.
I saw the lost dog sign in the neighborhood one day,and the dog had a really distinct face—not just brown dog, medium size, or something vague. This dog had one of those faces you would recognize again immediately. So, a little later, when I saw it wandering around only a few blocks away, I was like, No crap, that’s the dog. I picked it up, checked the sign again to make sure,and took it back to the address in the poster.
When I got there,the whole damn family was there—parents, kids, everybody. And the second they saw the dog, they all just lost it. Crying, hugging the dog, thanking me over and over like I had done some huge heroic thing. Honestly, I was just happy the dog was safe and didn’t get hit by a car or disappear farther away.
The next week I started a new year of high school,and walked into English class. Guess who the teacher was? The husband or father from the lost dog family. He recognized me immediately,and just gave me this look like, Oh, it’s you.
Not saying he handed me the grade for free, but let’s just say I didn’t do crap and made an A in that class. Instant karma, honestly. Seventh story. Me, my brother,and our friend decided to be funny and get on an elevator ahead of our other friends so we could get to the hotel room first and lock him out for fun.
It was one of those dumb little vacation ideas that sounds hilarious for about five seconds. Like we were going to race upstairs, shut the door,and make him knock while we laughed like idiots. Nothing serious, just being annoying. So,the elevator door closed,and we’re all feeling real clever.
Then the elevator moves for a second, stops,and just stays stopped. At first, we were still laughing, thinking it would start again or the doors would open, but nope. We were actually stuck. The joke immediately stopped being funny when we realized we had no way out,and our friend,the one we ditched, was not stuck with us.
Had to call for help,and ended up trapped in that elevator for an hour and a half. Hot, bored, annoyed, slowly regretting every life choice that led us there. Meanwhile, our other friend,the one we were planning to lock out, got to chill by the pool the entire time. He had snacks, a chair, fresh air,and probably the biggest smile on his face once he found out what happened.
So, yeah, instant karma. We tried to ditch him as a joke,and the universe locked us in a metal box instead. I guess we deserved it. Eighth story.
Negative experience—well, it wasn’t negative for me. I was coming onto a freeway with my big rig, signaling,and smoothly switching lanes while keeping half an eye on a car behind me that had been crowding me pretty hard. It was raining. As soon as he hit the merge ramp that he happened to be following me up, he gunned it in an attempt to pass me, cutting into the no drive zone—clearly marked as such.
It’s called a gore point, by the way. Trivia. Problem being, my cab is sixty feet ahead of him. I’m already legally merging,and fifty percent of my whole rig already occupies the lane he wants.
I guess if you have your head in your bum, it’s easy to assume that the truck in front of you consists of nothing more than just the final ten feet of the trailer. I don’t know why, but this dude—and it’s almost always a dude that does this—flips out. He screeches so hard back into his lane that I can literally feel the road tremble. He’s blaring his horn, flashing his lights,and I’m just cruising, calm as heck.
I watch traffic in my drive side mirror,and when I see a break, I suspect what’s coming. Yep, he jerks into the left lane, floors it, gets beside my cab honking the whole way. He swerves at me. It’s wet out.
I do not react—too dangerous—and then cuts me off. Meh, expected. Here’s the delicious surprise. He jerks into place in front of me, jams his brakes,and just totally loses control of his vehicle.
It is suddenly sideways at forty five miles an hour. I’m nowhere near him,having already slowed. As I watch, his car continues to spin until it’s facing me, then it whips back forward while heading straight into the ditch, where it plows earth like a farm tool,in front of all of us there on the freeway. I’m stopped,the left lane is stopped,and we’re just watching as this guy slowly gets out of his car, which looks pretty damaged, or at least really freaking stuck.
I see that other drivers are getting out to render aid,and some are on their phones, so I just gear up out of there nice and calm. Instant karma. Felt awesome. Ninth story.
I went to high school with this girl—we’ll call her Tina. Anyway, she was super skinny,and a lot of the boys liked her. She wasn’t the most popular girl in school,but she was definitely popular enough that people were scared to call her out. And honestly, she was one of the meanest people I’d ever met.
She made fun of everyone—kids who were overweight, nerdy kids, disabled kids, quiet kids, literally anybody she thought was an easy target. She once found my home phone number,and called me three way with some other girls just to tell me they saw a period stain in my pants. I was already humiliated enough from that happening at school,but she went out of her way to make sure I had to feel embarrassed all over again at home. That was the kind of person she was.
She didn’t just tease people in the moment—she wanted to really make them feel small. For years, she acted like she was untouchable because boys liked her,and because people laughed when she was cruel. She could ruin someone’s whole day,and then walk away like it was nothing. A lot of us just learned to avoid her because arguing back only made her worse.
Fast forward to today,and life did not exactly reward her. She’s not doing well, doesn’t seem to have many people around her, still acts bitter online,and from what I’ve heard, her boyfriend cheats on her. I don’t usually celebrate people being miserable,but after watching her torture everyone she could just because she could, it’s hard not to see it as karma catching up. Tenth story.
I was in a band that was playing a Friday night show in Duluth during the winter. I’m from Minneapolis, so I didn’t feel like driving home at 2:00 a. m. afterwards.
Duluth to Minneapolis is usually a two and a half hour to three hour drive in good conditions. We know some people that went to college up in Duluth, so they let us hang out at their house overnight. Didn’t really sleep much—crashed on the couch for a couple of hours, maybe. Forgot exactly what time we left—maybe around 5:00 or so.
Whenever it was, it was early enough that we had to wait for the nearest McDonald’s to open to get some McMuffins. The weather looked pretty clear, so we headed home after we loaded up on energy drinks at a gas station. It started snowing a bit after we left Duluth,and after about forty five minutes of driving, it turned into the worst blizzard I’ve ever had the displeasure of driving in. The snow was so thick that you couldn’t see much of anything more than probably ten feet in front of your windshield.
Luckily, there was a semi in front of me,and I was able to make out the glow of his tail lights,and brake lights when he pressed them,cutting through the snow. The thing was though,that this guy was driving at seventy miles an hour. I had a few options. Slow down to a safer speed,and lose the semi,my only reference point in a sea of white, pull over,and hope the storm passes,risking getting snowed in on the side of the road,or getting rear-ended by someone that can’t see me in my white van.
White-knuckle it,and follow the semi at high speeds. I went with option three,and followed the semi, staying as far away as I could without losing sight of his lights. I forget exactly how long I followed him for—maybe an hour and a half—before I couldn’t take it anymore. The lack of sleep,and the excess of caffeine plus stress,became too much,and I pulled over at a rest stop where I took a nap,and waited until the snow wasn’t quite as bad.
I’ll never meet that trucker,but I wish I could thank them for guiding me through that storm for as long as they did. Eleventh story. I go through periods of insomnia,and have stayed up through countless nights over the years. One such night,probably about a year and a half ago,I went to 7-Eleven like 3:30 a.
m. for I don’t remember what. On the way out,I see this native homeless guy called Hobo Joe. I’ve seen him around my city,Norfolk,Virginia,for years.
Anyway,I see him,and as usual he’s begging for change. I don’t mind helping this guy out because he doesn’t spend it on drinking—he legitimately needs food. So,I go back in,and buy him two microwave 7-Eleven hamburgers,and heat them up. Side note,I dropped one on the floor,and never told him.
I gave him the burgers,and proceed to Tropical Smoothie,which opens at 7:00 a. m. I park the car,and open the door. Look down,and what do I see?
A fresh twenty dollar bill on the white line of the parking spot. Freaking nice. So,that’s cool,but then this is the really crazy part. I come back out of Tropical Smoothie,and as I approach my car,what do I find?
Another twenty in the exact same spot. Check my pocket,—the first one was still there. A glitch in the Matrix? Twelfth story.
A few years ago,my infant son couldn’t sleep,so we walked out to my local supermarket to get some basics,and blow off steam. I look terrible—sleep deprived,grumpy,disheveled,and bedraggled. Yes,just like any other new parent. My son was in a sling on my belly.
I don’t remember what I was purchasing,but as I was checking out,the woman behind me stepped forward,and said, Please let me pay for this. I’ve always wanted to help out like this. Now,I was actually pretty well off despite my appearance,but she wanted this,and I didn’t have very much to buy,so I graciously thanked her,and walked out,both of us smiling. It was a beautiful night.
My son was finally asleep,so I just loitered,and eventually noticed someone trying in vain to start a car. Yep,it was the lovely young woman who helped me out. I’m a decent mechanic,and happened to be toting a multi-tool around with me. It was a fast and easy thing to get her running.
Felt awesome. Thirteenth story. Not exactly instant,but relevant enough to share. I work in a building with ten floors—I’m on the fifth.
Last Thursday,I was coming back to the lobby from lunch in a hurry,and I just pressed the up button,and the elevator immediately opened up. Awesome. Before I step into the elevator,I notice someone coming up the stairs about thirty feet away. I usually like to wait for stragglers so as to boost my own elevator karma.
As this person approaches,I notice she’s fairly attractive,and close to my age. Bonus points,right? I also notice that she was in a hurry. She asks me, Is CSG in this building?
Me, Yes,it is. Tenth floor. Her, Oh,okay. Thank you.
I’m running so late for my interview. At this point,I notice she’s not only attractive,but she’s pretty damn gorgeous. I press down as she enters,the elevator usingthe floor number plus door close button trick to jump straight to the requested floor,and she says, Oh,do you work for CSG,too? Me, No,but since you’re late,we’ll get you there first,and I’ll go back down to five.
Her, Oh,that’s sweet. You don’t have to do that. Sure enough,we zip past the fifth floor,and we hit the tenth. She gathers herself,and catches her breath from running to the building,and realizes she forgot her phone.
Her, Oh my gosh,I was supposed to call when I got here. Can I use your phone? I’m so sorry. Me, Not a problem.
She dials CSG from the elevator,and clears everything up. She then goes on to say, You were a great help. Thank you so much. I went for it,and said, No problem.
Let me know how it goes. She smiles a bit shyly,and says, I sure will. She proceeds to tap away at my phone. She hands it back,smiles again,and walks away.
I look down at my phone. Seven digits programmed under contact name Samantha elevator. For a guy who never gets the girl,I was pretty freaking elated. We’re going out for drinks tomorrow night.
Sorry,so wordy. Fourteenth story. We had a light snow here in Jersey one day,and my friends,and I wanted to make the most of it. We took a sled out,and took turns laying on it in the road,and pulling each other down the street with a rope.
Yeah,kind of stupid,but we were bored,and it was entertaining. Anyway,some schmuck in your typical bumblebee sounding Honda Civic rode by,and screamed that we were profanities because there wasn’t any snow. They then gassed the crap out of the car,lost all control,and plowed into some bushes at the end of my street. My friends,and I then watched as they fought for about twenty minutes to get their piece of crap Civic out of the bush because he couldn’t get any traction in what little snow there was.
Fifteenth story. We went out with my uncle,and his family for dinner at a really nice restaurant in Dallas or Fort Worth. There were seven of us eating,and we were all drinking wine,and really just trying to see how much we spent on one dinner,I guess. This increasingly intoxicated guy from the bar kept coming up to our table,and making conversation,commenting on how awesome my six month old son is,etc.
By the end of the night,he really starts to get annoying,and my uncle is discussing with us whether or not he should say something,but I tell him no,don’t worry about it—he’s just having a good time. He seems like a good guy. So,when it comes time to pay our bill,the waiter just says, Have a nice evening. Thanks for coming in.
My uncle,and I are confused,and askthe waiter aboutthe check. He tells us thatthe guy that kept coming up to us paid our tab,and that it was already done,and nothing we could do about it. He even tells us thatthe guy does this all the time. Our bill was fifteeen hundred bucks.
My uncle soughtthe guy out in cigar room,and gave him a big hug,andthe guy just said, You have such a beautiful family. Pay it forward sometime. The guy even tippedthe waiter some crazy amount from the lookthe waiter gave us. So,I learned—always be nice tothe loud guy inthe bar.
You never know who’s a millionaire. Sixteenth story. We have a blood drive at school after a classmate got himself into a pretty serious accident. Everyone was kind of shaken up,andthe school was encouraging students who could donate to do it.
I signed up mostly because it felt like the right thing to do at the time. I didn’t really think much would come from it beyond maybe helping someone,and getting a snack after. Well,after that,I decided to donate again. When I went in,they told me something interesting about my previous donation.
Apparently,after they tested it,they found out I had missed out on some childhood disease or exposure or something like that. I can’t remember the exact details,but because of that,my fluid could safely be given to infants. That hit me harder than I expected. I donated once because someone at school had been hurt,and then found out I had this oddly specific thing that could help babies.
It felt like one of those small choices that accidentally turns into something way bigger than you planned. I donate regularly now. I feel really good every time. It’s not flashy karma or some big dramatic moment,but it feels like the good kind.
I did one decent thing,found out I could help in a special way,and now I keep doing it. Seventeenth story. I was out with my girlfriend at a late night movie when I spot another older couple walking. Now,I have to admit,the guy I saw had a long coat,cane,sunglasses,and I didn’t wear a bowler type hat.
That being said,I’m fairly certain thatthe man was a pimp or held some pimp-related job. Now,the wind was blowing like a mother trucker that night,and all of a sudden I watched this guy’s hat fly off out into the street. He didn’t seem to mind,and just kept on walking—I assume so he wouldn’t look like another schmuck chasing his hat down the road. I,on the other hand,have no shame,and begin chasingthe hat just for fun as well as just trying to be helpful.
I bring the hat back tothe guy,and he says, Thanks,brother. To which I reply, No problem,man. I just like chasing stuff. He goes in for a handshake,and I feel something in his hand.
At this point I’m not sure if he just handed me a bag of substances or a business card,so I walk away with my girlfriend. Once we get in the car,I turn to her,and say, That guy just gave me this. I unfold a crisp hundred dollar bill,and proceed to buy liquor for everyone that night. Easiest hundred dollars I’ve ever made.
Eighteenth story. One time when I was about eight,me and my older sister were fighting over a seat. This seat was god-like,and wasthe softest,and coldest in the summer heat. She won the argument with brute force,and sat down on it in victory.
There was a wasp lodged into the cushion,staring her exposed right where she sat. She’s allergic,and was crying the whole day. Nineteenth story. I worked in a bar where I lived in Newfoundland.
As I was on my way in one night,I saw a guy standing by a roadwith a sign that said something like, Far from home,no place to sleep,and hungry. I waved him over,and gave him five dollars,the only cash I had,and told him to take care of himself. This was a Thursday night,and I always worked in the back bar,which never saw any traffic. I usually took home about five dollars in tips for a Thursday,or ten in a good day.
That day,three separate people won big in the slot machines,and gave me twenty dollar tips each,and I ended up taking home about seventy five dollars in tips. Twentieth story. My brother,and I were stuck in a friend’s house because they had a wild guard dog that broke its chain. This dog was not one of those cute barking dogs either—it was the kind of dog that made you rethink every decisionthat led you to that yard.
My brother standing there trying to figure out how to get tothe gate without getting chased,and instead of coming up with an actual plan,my brother pushes me out first. So now I have to run tothe gate as a dog chases me. Full panic sprint,not even looking graceful—just arms everywhere,heart in my throat,trying not to trip while this dog is coming after me like I owed it money. Somehow I managed to escape,got through the gate,and went home absolutely mad thatmy own brother used me as bait.
He stayed behind because apparently he was not as brave,and he was the one who had to run. So,when I got home,my mom asked where he was,and I told her he was sleeping over at her friend’s house. Then I ate his dinner. Her brother got home thirty minutes later,probably hungry,shaken up,and expecting sympathy.
Instead,he found out I had already eaten his food. He went to bed crying. Instant karma for pushing me toward the dog. The universe really said, Not so fast,big bro.
Twenty first story. I’ve been a lifeguard for the last few years,and this past summer started working at a new pool. Now you can ask any lifeguard,and they will almost always have some favorite familiesthat come tothe pool,and families they hate. One of my favorites was a family of four.
The dad would come sometimes,but most of the time it was the mom—who was incredibly beautiful—her four year old son,and two year old daughter. Both kids have bright blonde hair,and are always smiling. They never talked back,and always listened,which is pretty unusual for kids all hyped up at the pool. Sometimes,the mother would bring one of the large tubsthat people have to store things in,and she would fill it up with a little bit of water,and let her two year old stand in it while she taught her son to swim.
Made it a lot easier for everyone since the two year old would just stand there,and play with her toys,and not wander all overthe pool,and possibly get into trouble. However,one day,the mom had her two year old out to change her diaper,and her son walks over to grab a toy out ofthe tub,and basically falls in face first. Now he wasn’t in too much danger from drowning,but I’m sure it was scary for him. He started yelling,and crying pretty quick,so I ran over to him,and picked him up,and saved him.
Now the karma comes in when a few days later,they come back,and he walks over to me with his thank you card. It’s two note cardsthat he had attached together with a ring. Mostly it’s just colorful scribbles,but on one side it’s a poorly written thank you,and on the other side is IOU. I’ve always thought it was adorable thathe thought thathe owed me for doing my job.
Still have my thank you card in a box at home,along with some other notesthat swimmers wrote me when I was their summer league coach. Yeah,it’s a good memory box. Twenty second story. I found a purse left in a cart outside of store I used to work at.
Technically against policy,I opened the purse,but only because I was trying to find a name or some kind of contact info so I could get it back to whoever lost it. I knew if I just turned it in,and left it,it might sit there for who knows how long,and if I lost my purse,I’d be panicking too. I found the lady’s name,managed to contact her,and sure enough,it was her purse. She was frantic looking for it—like full panic mode—because everything important was in there.
I told her I’d wait at the store after hours so she could come get it. I don’t really think anything of it—I just knew she needed it back. When she got there,she was so relieved,she almost looked like she was going to cry. She thanked me a bunch,checked that everything was still there,and then handed me an envelope.
She told me not to open it until I got home. When I finally got home,and opened it,there was a hundred and twenty dollars inside. The wild part was thatit was almost exactly how much I was short on rent thatmonth. I’d been stressing about it,trying to figure out how to make themoney stretch,and then this random act of returning a purse basically coveredthe gap.
Instant karma. I mean,honestly,one of those moments thatmade me believe doing the right thing really does come back around sometimes. Twenty third story. Unsuccessful attempted robbery,New Year’s Eve,Manchester,England,2006.
I was walking home with my friend after a pretty lame New Year’s Eve party. My friend,and I hit a fork inthe road where our houses were in different directions,so we said our goodbyes,and I carried on,tired,and a little out of it,for theten minute walk home. A minute later,I turn a corner onto an empty street,and as soon as I do,two young lads wearing all black race around the corner behind me,and then slow down a few feet behind me,and start following me. I thought thatwas really off,so I crossed the street,and began to walk really quickly.
I turn around fifteen seconds later,and it seems I’ve put a good bit of distance between us,so I think I’m in the clear. I keep walking for another twenty seconds,and hear a weird noise. I think to myself, What the hell is that? and turn around just in time to see a swing coming towards my face,and dodge it.
The first dude puts his hands up like he wants to fight,and screams at me unintelligibly,andthe other starts creeping out fromthe other side,and they’re backing me into a corner. Fight or flight kicks in. Crap,what should I do? Run.
I dash off right between them,and they start chasing me down the street,one yelling tothe other, You better catch him! We come to a main road,andlike you see inthe movies,two cars were coming in opposite directions,perfectly timed for me to run between them,and leave the guys on the other side ofthe street. I keep running for another three solid minutes at full panic pace,and get a block away from my home. I kneel over on my knees,totally winded,to make sure they don’t follow me to my house.
No sign of them. As I’m leaning over,I looked down atthe ground,and right inthe pavement sat two twenty pound notes folded up. It was unbelievable. And it was a sign.
I said to myself out loud,dripping with sweat,and veins pumped with adrenaline, This is going to be a good year. Twenty fourth story. A co-worker who slightly outranks me was joking,and screwing with me on a Saturday. Nothing serious,just normal workplace teasing,but she was really laying it on thick.
She kept giving me a hard time,saying I was a dummy,thatthey paid me too much to browse Reddit all day long,and basically acting like I was getting away with doing nothing. I was laughing it off because she was clearly joking,but she was definitely enjoying herself a little too much. And she went to sit down,and somehow got her right hand stuck awkwardly underneath her. I don’t even know how she managed it,but one second she was making fun of me,and the next she was crying because she had broken her pointer finger.
The whole mood changed so fast,and nobody even knew whether to laugh or panic. Through the tears,she looked at me,and said, Yes,I deserve that. And chuckled a little. Honestly,I couldn’t even be mad at her after that.
Instant karma showed up before I even had time to come up with a comeback. Twenty fifth story. When I was sixteen,I lived out of my car because I couldn’t get an apartment because no one would rent toa sixteen year old. It was an old beater,and had to push start it everywhere.
It kicked off pretty easy in reverse. I just pulled into Walmart to buy some decent clothes—needed more than the parts for my car,—and there was a purse inthe basket ofthe cart next to me. I opened it,and inside the wallet was a thousand incash,and several credit cards,and an ID. I so wanted to spend it,and I was going to.
Score. New clothes,andthe parts I need. So,I grabbed theoash,and put the purse back inthe cart. And I was paying for my clothes,I just couldn’t bring myself to pay with her money.
So,I paid with mine,and went back tomy car. Purse is still there,so I put themoney back in,and looked atthe address. It was right down the road,but it took me aboutan hour to find. I finally get there,park inthe street,andthe lady’s standing ina garage next to her nice new car ina fancy neighborhood,andon the phone canceling her credit cards.
I walked up,and asked if she had losta purse. I was pretty rough looking,and I could tell she was a bit nervous. So,I handed it to her,and told her I had to open it to find her address. She didn’t really say anything,and I got inmy car,and left.
And I was disappointed because it seemed like she didn’t even appreciate it. But I went onto where I work. I stayed there in my car most of the time. The next day before work,I woke up,went to McDonald’s to get breakfast.
I got to work,and sawthe lady leaving,then thought, Ah,that wasn’t her—just coincidence. When I went inside,the parts for my car were there,and a hundred dollars,and a note saying thanks. I was confused as hell. How did she know what parts?
How did you know where I worked? A few days before,I had gone over what I needed for my car,and wrote it down inthe back ofapay stub,andthenumber tothe parts house. And apparently,when I got out of her house,this paper came out ofmy car. She said inthe note she saw it after I left,and picked it up.
After she realized all her money was in her purse,and everything,she went down,and picked upthe parts,and dropped them off for me. Easily the nicest thing anyone has ever done. So,for aboutan hour’s drive,I got aroundthree hundred dollars worth ofparts,andhundred dollars cash. The good feeling I had for weeks was worth way more than the six hundred moreI would have made if I kept themoney.
Twenty sixth story. I’ve got two pretty positive ones. The first one came a few years back when I was delivering pizzas. I was taking a redelivery foran orderthat was wrong the first time.
I was going tothe crappiest hotel in our delivery area. The redelivery was a single one topping medium pizza. I pull up,and there’s a guythat says he needs some cash foratow truck. He gives me the typical sob story about life,and kids,and blah blah blah.
Normally,I don’t give into those things,but occasionally,I take the approach of, Well,if this guy’s lying tome,shame on him. Aside fromthat,for some reason,his story seemed more plausible. He graduated fromthe same high school,supposedly,although he was a bit older thanme. Now,I cut tothe chase—I asked him how much cash he needed.
I gave him theseven dollars he asked for. He ran back over tothe gas station,and I didn’t see him again. I had apizza to deliver. I run upthe stairs tothehotel tothe room,give them their replacement pizza,apologize forthe first mistake,and leave.
As I’m walking away,the guy comes out,and is like, Oh,wait,I forgot to give you atip. Any tip on aredelivery is a win,so I hustle back tothe room. The guy hands me afifty dollar bill,and tells me tohavea good night. I work foran events company,inthe morning of our biggest annual event last year.
I was sent totheoffice to pick upacouple things. As I’m leavingtheoffice,another guy approaches me with asimilar sob story asthe one above. I’m inahurry,and I cut him off,and was just like, How much do you need? He said ten dollars would do it,so I gave himten dollars,and headed on my way.
The event went fine,wasn’t great intermsofthe money we made. We sometimes get bonuses atmy job,usually tied tothis event based onthe amount of money it makes. I wasn’t expecting abonus due toasubpar year,but two days later,I had abonus check worthfive percent ofmy salary sitting onmy desk. Would either of these events happen withoutthe monetary donations?
Probably. I’d like to thinkthekarma gods were smiling onme,though. Twenty seventh story. Drammer that I am,I once had an armload of bags,and was running late forarehearsal.
No parking spots were available outsidethe theater,so I got stuck parking outside ofthe quad onmy campus,and walking tothe theater. There was aload ofjocks throwing afootball around bymy spot,goofing off. I parked,and proceeded to struggle with balancingthe bags,looking likeacomplete geek burger. As I passed bythe jocks,theball accidentally came my way,aka right towardsme.
But as it ebbed towardmylegs,I coolly kickedthefootball upwards,and caught it withmy non dominant hand. Although both arms were loaded downwith bags,I then proceeded to toss it back tothem casually,and continue on withmy journey. Well,they crapped themselves withsurprise. I’ve never felt so cool inmy life.
Twenty eighth story. I was at Walmart,as well,andthe lady infront ofme was buyingabag ofdry beans,and some baby food. But she didn’t have enough money inher food stamps account. I said, Let me buythat for you.
I wasalittle annoyed atthecashier,becausewhen I saidthat,she said withafeeling smart attitude, You don’t have to do that—she gets more money tomorrow. She can come back then,andbuy it. I was like,I don’t care ifshe can come back tomorrow—she’s obviously buying food forher family,and they may needthat tonight. The next day,my wife gotajob offerthatwould giveherasignificant raise overwhat she was currently making,solvingher financial problems.
The two events may not be related,butit was close enough forme to think something else was at work there. Twenty ninth story. When we were eighteen,agroup offriendsand I spent along weekend atmy buddy Jeff’s camp intheAdirondacks. There were two main dwellings betweenwhich we spent our time—his grandparents’ house,which sat way uponahill overlookingthewater,where we had our meals,andwhere we showered,andthe cabin right onthe lake where we did some aggressive drinking.
There were eight ofus inall,butthe only two people you really need toknow about areTomand Jim. Tom was relatively newtoour circle offriends,somewhat awkward,butgenerallyanice guy. Jim was,andis,aschmuck—immature,quick toviolence,self conscious,andselfish. The only reason he was there wasthathe had been friendswith Jeff sincebirth,and Jeff didn’t havetheheart to tellhim he couldn’t come,so Jim is constantly belittling Tom asthenew guy inthegroup toasserthis dominance inanotherwise non existent hierarchy—lest we viewJim aslowman onthetotem pole,which some ofus mayormay not have been doing anyway.
So,after lunch onSaturday,someone suggestedbeer pong inthecabin,anideathatproved favorabletoall ofus. Impatient asalways,Jim goes bombing downthehill headfirst ofus screaming, I got first game! I got first game! The rest ofus following casually behind.
When he reachedthebottom ofthehill,he takesabounding step ontothefront bumper ofTom’s green Ford Escort,then next ontothehood,andbeforemybrain could even processthethought ofwhat is thisschmuck doing,we all heardanextremely unsettlingcrunch. He’d drivenhisthird step throughtheglass ofTom’s windshield,which hadevidently been softened baking inthehot summer sun. And beforemybrain could even processthethought of Holy crap,Jim just drove throughthewindshield ofacar—he’s probably going toneed stitches—should we be laughing this hard? Hishforward momentum propelledhim totakeone fourth,andfinal step collapsing ontotheroof BEFORE ROLLING OFF.
WELL,WHAT DID YOU EXPECT? Jim’s leg remainsahaunting image forme. And asthis gorgeous bitofinstant karma,theimmediate sense ofpoetic justice thatpervaded overthewhole situation began tosettle,myfriend turned tome withthewidest smirk I’ve everseen,and asked, Do youthink he’ll sharehispainkillers?
That is true,andisashort story,but one hundred percent true.