In Defense of Kindness

(Even When You’re Pissed Off)

A couple of days ago, I was in Lowe’s when I saw this scrawny redneck trying to return a clearly used chainsaw. I was standing a few feet behind him, so I didn’t catch exactly why the store clerk wouldn’t take it back. But the guy blew a gasket. “This is really fucked up,” he shouted, loud enough for everyone within earshot. The poor clerk just stood there and took it.

When it was my turn, the same guy asked me if there was anything wrong with my purchase. I said, “Nah, it’s just a little shoddy and I’m not going to use it.” A lady cashier standing nearby—who’d just watched her coworker get reamed—looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.”

I told her, “Hey, it’s not your fault. No worries.”

She smiled. “Thank you for being kind.”

And I said what I’ve been thinking a lot lately: Kindness seems to be in short supply these days.

Even Apple has noticed. When you call AppleCare now, the recorded voice reminds you: “Our advisors are here to help. Please treat them with kindness.”

Let that sink in. Apple—home of the Genius Bar and the best customer support in the business—now has to ask people not to be assholes.

I get being frustrated. Companies are cutting corners, shipping junk, and outsourcing customer service to offshore call centers where you’ll sit on hold forever—only to finally get connected to someone with that familiar sing-song voice, whose English is barely passable, and whose grasp of context or nuance is nonexistent. I’ve been there. I’ve lost my cool. And I’m ashamed to admit I’ve berated some poor schlub who was probably just trying to survive the day. I hate that version of myself.

So what’s driving this surge of bad behavior? Why would a company like Apple have to beg people to be civil?

I think we all know.

We’ve been marinating in rage since Trump showed up in 2016. Moderated a bit over the last four years, maybe. But now the fuse is shorter than ever—and it’s not just the MAGA crowd foaming at the mouth. It’s everybody. We’re all tired. We’re cynical. We’re worn down to the nub.

The only balm I have for this simmering angst—aside from the evening cocktail—is the peaceful presence of my two golden retrievers. They are the embodiment of pure love. They do their damnedest to take the edge off. It’s not a full cure for Trump Derangement Syndrome, but it helps mask the symptoms.

And maybe this is worth remembering, too: over the last few years, I’ve been lucky to receive more little acts of kindness than I can count. Small gestures. Quiet grace. People showing up for me when I didn’t expect it. I’ll bet you have, too. Funny how we tend to forget those and remember the slights instead.

So maybe that’s the assignment. When you find yourself in a position to have an impact—however small—try to be the one who adds a little decency to the day.

Even when you want to throttle the woman on the other end of the phone. Even when you want to shoot the finger at the redneck who just cut you off. Even when you’re ready to unload on some poor bastard just trying to make a living.

You don’t have to be a saint. You don’t have to be fake. You just have to try—really try—not to make someone else’s day worse.

And if that feels too hard?

Get a golden retriever. It’s a start. Two are even better!

Booboo and Allie. The best therapists don’t take insurance.

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Here’s the thing I didn’t put in the written version…Sometimes the bonus track hits deeper than the main one.

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