Dear Woman In The White Honda,
First off let me start by stating the obvious: I know nothing about you… literally. The salutation of this letter or story or odd attempt of a motivational speech, features the only two facts I know about you:
• Fact Number 1: you are a woman
• Fact Number 2: you drive (or drove at the time) a four-door white Honda car
I could list a numero tres, assuming you enjoy Starbucks, but that would admittedly be a stereotypical presumption… perhaps I should alternatively describe it as an important side note/clue that may or may not be true.
Regardless, the world renowned coffee shop known as Starbucks, plays a vital role as the setting for the peak in the plot of my conjunction of sentences you’ve all found yourself reading. Now let me rewind just a bit to the start of this mogul filled, double-black diamond ski run of a memory I’m about to paint for you all.
I’m not entirely sure what day of the week it was, but I am sure that it was the day of the week that The Woman In The White Honda made a difference in my, Brooke Robertson’s, life. This impactful day started off quite normal compared to every other morning of mine. In fact, I remember waking up in this sort of, fortuitous realm of optimism, subsequently triggered by the yawn; the kind that requires a total body effort by straightening out each limb, stretching across the surface area of the bed, while simultaneously clinching your fist and pointing your toes, eventually unfolding the cardinal, wide open-mouthed “yaaaawwwwnnnnnnnnnnn,” leaving you totally and completely refreshed. Yeah, that kind. Unfortunately, the profoundly short-lived mechanism left me concussed; lying on my bed smiling up at the dusty fan, seduced by the tranquilly mute aroma.
*SpongeBob narrator voice *
“Three hours later… “
I opened my eyes to the familiar perception of the slowly rotating, dusty beige fan hanging from the ceiling in my apartment bedroom. “Ahh ball-sacs,” I murmured to myself while sitting up slowly. “What time is…” My eyes met the clock displayed on the bottom right corner of my television, instantly negating everything and anything on the plus side of my daily spectrum. I slammed my head back down on my pillow, frustrated that I had let myself doze off for basically the entire morning, primarily curbing my intentional plan of going to the two classes I was scheduled for that day. Just as the shitty resentment from my undisciplined and immature decisions began to really sink in, I got a waft of something even shittier. I sat back up in my bed and looked to my left towards the-what was supposed to be gated-area in my room where every square-inch was intentionally layered with puppy pads for an accident safe place to keep my new furry friend. The $15 white baby gate I inventively used in place of the $40 dog gate, was lying parallel to the carpeted floor, with no puppy in sight. So much for that idea… But for the record, I was a beginner in the raising a puppy department at the time, and come to find out, contrary to the endless flow of articles and “helpful hints” I had read on how to train a pup, none of them said anything about dogs having an upset stomach and the endless flow it occasionally educes. So when I said I got a waft of something shittier, I meant it.
*SpongeBob narrator voice*
“Forty-five minutes later…”
Standing at the entrance of my room with a trash bag full of paper towels, soaked in you-know-what, I let out a slightly dramatic, but much needed, sigh. My head was throbbing from the imperative bending over position someone would find themselves in while cleaning up after their dog. I opened my door to the living room where I saw a few of my roommates sitting on the couch. I began walking towards the exit to the apartment while enthusiastically raising the bag of stank, proudly admitting, “I wish my back hurt from-“ I turned around and winked at my friends “-something besides picking up dog shit.” My roommates laughed as I made my way out the door.
It was a terrible day so far if you couldn’t quite put that together… the cherry on top though, concludes the last part of this unfortunate day. As I was taking out the trash bag full of badonkadonk that had required the last hour of my attention, I made the decision to treat myself to an overly-sweetened caffeinated drink from the one and only, Starbucks. I swung the surprisingly full bag of waste over my shoulder and into the big blue metal bin located in the middle of the parking lot at my apartment complex, then immediately redirected my path towards my car.
Drooling over the thought of the evasively advertised thirst quenching frappuccino I was about to order, I drove towards the closest Starbucks to my apartment; one I previously just so happened to work at. I found myself in line behind three cars and in front of four, with my window down ordering my much needed blend of ice, syrup, and coffee, when I realized how beautifully inauspicious life can be. I had left my wallet at my apartment. This relentless bad luck that was weaving throughout the chain of events I had undergone all day was entirely degrading. I honestly remember asking myself why… why can’t I catch a break? Poor me, I know.
Thankfully, I had a few minutes to sulk in my sadness while I was stuck in the drive-through line, immobilized by the poorly constructed layout of the building. Eventually car number one and two drove off after getting their drinks, turning onto the busy road that was adjacent to the Starbucks. The time I spent in line waiting to explain my situation to the barista, compelled me to inadvertently check-out the butt of the car I was stuck behind: an older model, white, four-door Honda. The driver wrapped up their exchange of products and services, eventually pulling forward making way for me to inch towards the drive-through window.
I was planning to quickly confess I had forgotten my wallet, apologize for inconveniencing them, and FINALLY ending this torturous affair. All I could think about was how desperately I wanted to go back home, crawl into bed, and never ever leave again. I rolled down my window looking up to see a young gentleman in a green apron and black headset smiling down at me, holding what looked like the drink I had ordered in his left hand. “Hi sir,” I began, “unfortunately I left my wallet at home, so I won’t be able to buy that drink.“
“Your coffee has been paid for ma’am,” kindly informing me while reaching out to hand me my drink, “the woman in the car in front of you requested to pay for it!”
For some reason I hesitated to grab the drink I had convinced myself I wouldn’t be indulging in. Rarely do I find myself in a situation where I’m at a loss for words, but there I was, momentarily stifled by the random act of kindness I was blessed by in the Starbucks drive-through line. I could feel the corners of my mouth slowly curve upwards as the perplexing inauguration to a better day unfolded before me.
“Oh uhm wow...” trying to control my innate giggle stirring up from the abrupt change in my mood “… thank you so much!”
I was slowly wilting away, drained by the series of unfortunate events from the day, when a complete stranger made the decision to do something nice for another complete stranger. This woman had absolutely no idea of the day I had-had, nor that I had left my wallet at home, or even the effect she would have on me by paying for my drink. What are the odds? I pondered this question for quite some time… Why is it that I have never seen or experienced such a thing like this before in my life? No matter how much I argued with myself over the controversial answer to this question, it led me to yet another question, a better question… have I ever done anything like that for someone else? The answer, was no.
So here I sit, at my house in my bed writing this, to not just The Woman In The White Honda, but everyone else in this sedentary world of ours, including myself. To The Woman In The White Honda, no words could ever amount to how thankful I am and was of your blind act of graciousness. As for everyone else, my hopes for writing this is that I open your eyes to the beautiful repercussions of someone making a difference in this world, and invite you to join me on my journey as I attempt to continue what the woman in the white Honda started. 365 days. 365 dares. 365 opportunities to make a difference. I am challenging each and every one of you to follow me and engage in what could be an inspiring domino effect that surges humanitie’s pure genuineness. If one woman in a white Honda could positively influence my life, by simply buying my drink at Starbucks, think about what would happen if every single person did something similar for someone else?
Concluding, I want to leave you all with one of my favorite quotes, hoping it sticks, aiding the choices and decisions you make in the near bright future. It was originally used for scientific purposes, but I’ve come to notice and appreciate the fine line between the various depictions of Newton’s Third Law:
“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”