Over the last two weeks, I have encountered two acts of random kindness. Both of them involved strangers lending me a helping hand when I was clearly having trouble. However, they turned out to be very different once I re-analyzed the strangers’ intentions. While one rejuvenated my belief that most people are good citizens with warm intentions, the other brought me down and once again had me doubting that innocence.

The first incident saved me from an embarrassing and dangerous situation. It happened on my long drive down to Eastern, through the endless cornfields and spaces of nothingness.

Before I left Chicago, I chose not to stop for gas because I was betting fuel would be cheaper down south. So, I stopped at a friendly small town gas station at one the nameless towns on the way. I pumped $12 worth of gas and brought some pretzels to the counter and the cashier rung me up. When I tried to pull the $20 bill I though I had in my pocket, I found it was only a $5 bill.

I had no credit card, and, evidently, I had no money. I started to cry and panic in line, and started to unpack my car looking frantically for the checkbook I hadn’t used since I left school last semester.

My car was half unpacked when the cashier approached me. I prepared myself a harsh scolding or a warning that the police were en route. Instead, she told me I could go. Some kind gentleman paid for my gas and then left without a trace.

This is the type of classic, old-time kindness that I truly appreciate. This man was my masked super hero, not even staying around to hear my endless thank you’s.

A few days later, I experienced another act of kindness, but I soon found that there was more to this random stranger than a hero wanting to achieve his good deed of the day.

I was single-handedly moving a heavy chair into my new house. I know I definitely looked like I needed help. Sweat was pouring down my face, as I tried to lift the chair inch by inch up the tiny hill in the front of my house, and I had no idea what I was going to do when I got to the stairs.

A young man offered to help me with the chair, and I gratefully accepted his assistance. With a little team work it cut a job that would have taken me half an hour to a few minutes. I introduced myself to my random helper, shook his hand and thanked him for his help. I felt so lucky than in two weeks, two different people were willing to come to my aid.

However, days later the second act of kindness turned sour.

The man who moved my chair showed up drunk at my door, wanting to ‘say hi.’

If you want to make friends, paying an unexpected visit at a girl’s house you don’t know, while drunk is not the way, buddy. Was I supposed to repay him for helping move my chair with unlimited booty calls?

A million scenarios went through my mind. I didn’t know what he wanted or what he was going to do. It ranks as one of the scariest moments of my life.

I’d like to keep random acts of kindness alive. They bring that cheesy, fuzzy feeling to life that you think you can only get by watching Full House reruns. However, its important to keep in mind that they are supposed to be just that – random. When you help someone, the satisfaction of knowing you helped them with a problem, or made them laugh or rescued them from being stranded should be thanks enough. It’s about why you do it, not what you do.

Of course, I prefer the first act of kindness to the last.