quote:

I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with formerly drug-addicted celebrity bad boys. Mine does. You may or may not be a fan, but I am: His name is Robert Downey Jr., and it was the early ’90s (I was barely 20 years old) when this story took place.

It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California—my stepmother was the executive director of the organization. I was escorting my grandmother to the event.

There isn’t enough room in this story to explain to you everything my grandmother was—I would need volumes. So for the sake of brevity, I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her 80s, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her type of intelligence did not include recognizing young celebrities.

I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with cheese. He wasn’t Cary Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?

The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose time in the Vietnam War left him in a wheelchair and whose story had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July. I mention the wheelchair because it played a role in what happened next.

After the speeches concluded, we stood up in our front-row seats to make our exit. But as she rose, my grandmother tripped and fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do—at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open. The blood was staggering.

I’d like to be able to tell you that I whipped into action—that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed—but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood? Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation. That person was Robert Downey Jr.

He ordered someone to call an ambulance, another to bring a glass of water, and another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket, he rolled up his sleeves, and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg. Then he took the jacket, which I’d assumed he’d taken off only to get it out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream-colored linen turn scarlet with her blood. He told her not to worry and that everything would be all right. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, distract her, and—most critically—play to her vanity. He held on to her calf, and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were. She said to him, to my humiliation, “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor, but I’ve never heard of you.”

He stayed with her until the ambulance came, and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.” He was a movie star, after all.

Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without a word. I was too embarrassed and way too shy to thank him.

We all have things we wish we’d said, moments we’d like to revisit and reenact. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times when words utterly failed us. But I did—many years later.

I should mention that, later, when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for possession of heroin, cocaine, and an unloaded .357 Magnum handgun found in his car, I thought of writing to him. I wanted to remind him of that day when he was humanity personified, when he was the best of what we each can be. On that day, he was the kindest of strangers.

But I didn’t.

Some 15 years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died, and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant. I grew up in Los Angeles, where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while he’s out having a meal. But on this day, I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno and my own shyness, and I approached his table.

I said, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this …,” and I told him the story.

He remembered.

“I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”

He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.”

Palisader posted:

Was that the same goon that ended up either dying young of a heartattack or committing suicide? I seem to remember him as being a GBS superstar and something to do with hotels...

That fecal lasagna story was A+ though, he did a good job with the build-up and had an engaging writing style.

Furia posted:

Reminds me of the stdh with the little girl and the math exam with the bullshit "largest number you can make question".

Just thinking about it pisses me off

Ed Trice, Executive Director at Lightning Cloud Computing posted:

This post is about my fight against "Standardized Testing" in math, and what later became "Common Core." It goes back to 2008 when my daughter was in grade school. I got a call to come to the principal's office. I was surprised, as this was a real first. Like all fathers I suppose, we tend to think of our little girls as angelic and saintlike. In my case, this was the absolute truth.

"Your daughter was being disruptive in class."

It was like an arrow through my heart. I looked over at her. There were tear-streaked marks all down her face. She looked down at her shoes when I shot a glance over at her. And she started sobbing again. The principal continued his monotone diatribe, while I walked over to kneel besides my daughter and hug her.

"Really, Mr. Trice, that's not appropriate..."

I continued to ignore him. "Are you OK?" I asked her. She looked up, nodded her head, and sniffled.

"Tell me what happened" was all I said as I tried not to stare through the principal's skull with my X-ray vision superpower.

"Your daughter tried to correct her math teacher. The teacher explained why she was wrong, and she insisted that she was correct."

I laughed.

I knew she was right and the teacher was wrong. I couldn't wait to hear this one.

"What was the question?" I asked as the principal was about to interject a rebuke to my outburst.

The teacher was also present, and he spoke up. "The question was, what was the largest number that can be represented with 3 digits. I said it was 999, your daughter disagreed."

I remember thinking "Uh-oh. What the heck was she thinking?"

That's when she spoke up, anger in her voice, "Oh yeah? Tell me what 9 raised to the 9th power raised to the 9th power is then??"

Holy crap! She was right! Technically, the problem is not asking for the largest 3-digit number, which is exactly where my mind went upon hearing the question. The question is asking you to represent a number using 3 digits, so exponentiation cannot be ruled out.

I looked over at her and smiled and said "Way to go! You're 100% correct!" And I gave her a high-five. She smiled. Then cried some tears of joys as she laughed. She knew I had her back.

LITERALLY A BIRD posted:

uugghhh

Samizdata posted:

Had to Google that one as I was unsure if it was real or you were snarking. You know, in a deadpan fashion. In order to make me have a Heroic BSOD so you could have your CMOA.

Winter Stormer posted:

It sounded like a salesman trying to get his foot in the door, to me

Avenging_Mikon posted:

Yours too. Hard drugs should be prosecuted.

CROWS EVERYWHERE posted:

Do they have to learn BOMDAS so they can work out those Facebook """"riddles""" like "what is the answer to 3+3x3-3÷3 (90% of people get it wrong!)"

life is killing me posted:

Are you just pissed there are bible verses in it? Yeah it's reaching for some pats on the back, ok. But is this stdh really different from what you'd hear in church?

Flint_Paper posted:

My favourite bit is him being "accountant" to the school's pot dealers. Like they need to claim skins back on their taxes or something.

Detective Buttfuck posted:

Did they delete the Imgur post? It only has the title now, no contents, comments, or uploader name.

Dejawesp posted:

What about "The patient had expensive RMB ringtones and tattoos while also being on medicaid and having money left over for pretzels and beer"

CROWS EVERYWHERE posted:

Can't expect anything better of poor uneducated cashiers to be honest. Oh how I pity the working class, when will they realise there is more to life than reality TV shows and pop culture magazines?

goose willis posted:

Paladinus posted:

Didn't happen on so many levels.

Reddit: That Happened posted:

sweeperbravo posted:

Imagine pressing each emoji that many times. You can't just press and hold down that poo poo, that's a conscious decision.

Trash Boat posted:

Well, I can't really blame the woman, I would probably be in awe too of such a top notch comeback.

Dilb posted:

Apparently it's real. If you tape down a turbo controller with the right settings (so what would normally be a 2-3 minute match is finished in 3 seconds), it could be done in as little as 6 months. No one has ever come close by actually playing. That would be 200 vs matches a day to have done it by today.