AS we pull up to the East Link toll booth, the woman in the window sees my passenger Henry McKean’s microphone and guesses something is afoot.
"I’d like to pay for myself and the next ten people behind me," I bellow like a benevolent drunk as Newstalk’s roving reporter chuckles beside me.
A random punter at the booth paying for others doesn’t happen every day, but Ann, who has worked on the bridge for six years, handles the situation with classic Dublin stoicism.
"Ten?" she responds coolly. "That’s no problem."
We pay €17.50, and after parking safely we jump out like the Dukes of Hazzard, ready to be praised. Hilariously, the first person through is free anyway; the second is a taxi driver, who does nothing; and the third is a truck driver, who because of the size of his vehicle is only able to hold up the famous trucker’s index finger. We wink back anxiously.
Finally, someone stops.
"I’m very gratfeful," says Fiona from Dublin. "But my husband has about ten minutes to get to the airport so I better go."
"It’s great," says Michael O’Neill, from Northern Ireland. "Thrilled. I’ve just spent €250 at the hair transplant clinic so this has made a big difference to my day."
Satisfied that our work on the toll bridge is done, we jump eagerly back into the car, put the key in the ignition and go … nowhere. After several attempts, it’s apparent there’s little hope of starting it. We, the purveyors of kindness, are in need of kindness ourselves. Having concerned the toll bridge authorities with our impromptu interviews, we go back to the office with our tails between our legs and ask for help.
This being Ireland, it’s not a bother. "It’s not an effort to be nice," says toll bridge worker Frank as he attaches the jump leads to my battery. "It’s harder to be bad I think. As they say, it’s nice to be nice."
Frank’s help is more than nice, it is a God-send. When I rev up the engine, a minor victory cry is heard. Kindness turns to camaraderie under a gloomy grey sky.
Henry is delighted at our misfortune. For him, it’s "pure radio gold." But as we head for Pearse Street library, I quietly pray to the Karma police that there will no more messing from them.
"What type of books are they?" asks librarian Susan Flood when I offer to hand over five impeccably clean paperbacks. "We’ll just see. They look OK. I’ll just have to check something."
As Susan disappears into a private room, we nervously wonder if officialdom might get in the way of our public-spiritedness. Thankfully, the books are accepted and Susan seems appreciative.
"We do accept donations but they have to be in good condition," she says. "Thank you very much for the books. We’ll put them into circulation in the next couple of days. It’s very helpful."
From the library, we move into the city centre for heavy duty kindness. What better way to an Irish person’s heart than a nice cup of tea.
The Bailey pub on Duke Street kindly supplies us with the hot water. We set up shop outside its fine-looking facade and wait for the onslaught of thirsty shoppers. Considering we are, allegedly, the biggest per-capita tea drinkers in the world, we are surprised by the initial lack of interest. After several rejections, ranging from "I just had coffee" to "Do you have any Rooibos?" we finally get a few takers.
"I’m delighted to have a free cuppa," says retired teacher Marian. "It’s very welcome, I have to say. Kindness costs nothing and if you can do something for someone, so much the better."
"In the old days, we used to be kind," says Micheál deBurca, from Thurles. "But when the boom came I think we lost our identity a little. The niceness was all gone that we had."
A passer-by in his 50s seems very taken by the idea of a week dedicated to random acts of kindness.
"It sounds like a good idea," he says. "Just to put the emphasis on kindness. A lot of the time you just hear a lot of the negative stuff, so it’s good to be positive. And it’s nice to get a free cup of tea."
After 45 minutes of handing out tea, we decide it’s time for the trump card — a box of 500 of Butler’s finest chocolates. Slightly disappointed by the response to the free tea, we are sure that these will disappear more quickly.
"Oh wow," says Aube Whelan McManus as I offer him a Butler’s.
Aube sells hats and scarves off Grafton Street and he has only good things to say about the people he sees every day.
"People are generally very kind along here," he says. "Most people are fantastic and if they’re not nice, they’re weird but interesting.
"I’m having a good day; got a chocolate off a stranger and I’m about to go home."
Moving into Grafton Street, we are suddenly engulfed by people. Most are humbly taking one or two chocolates at a time, when suddenly, from out of the blue, a skinny gentleman in a tracksuit top scuttles over and grabs a huge handful from the box.
"Feed the family, know what I’m sayin?" he says and runs off.
"Sometimes, people can be zealous when it comes to something free," says Henry into his mic. More radio gold, no doubt.
The demolition of chocolate doesn’t take long and after Henry hands out some roses and we both get kissed a few times, we stroll towards McDaid’s pub on Harry Street for the finale.
"Free drink for everybody, if that’s OK?" I say slightly tentatively in order not to draw an invasion from outside.
After initially viewing us with slight suspicion, everyone accepts. As the pints of porter settle, we speak to some of the patrons.
"I can’t remember the last time someone came in off the street, now, in terms of a random act of kindness," says James Goodman, from Monaghan. "I wouldn’t do it too often myself, I suppose."
"I knew there had to be a catch," says his friend Michael Brogan, from Mayo, referring to the fact that he has to talk to us for all of 30 seconds. "But still. Never say no to a free pint."
"It’s not very usual to have this," says Nicol, from Germany. "I’m not sure where you’re from."
As the patrons carry on drinking, everyone’s mood seems lighter. And as Henry and myself let our tasty pints settle, we agree that Frank’s motto from earlier holds true. It is, indeed, nice to be nice.
* For more on Jonathan and Henry’s day out in Dublin, tune into this afternoon’s Moncrieff on Newstalk 106 — 108 FM between 1.30pm and 4.30pm.
a d v e r t i s e m e n t
This appeared in the printed version of the Irish Examiner Monday, February 13, 2012
