On Wednesday, February 15, I received “the most unlikely call of my life.” I was enjoying a morning stroll with my girlfriend, in the Capitol Hill area of Washington, DC (post-Maggie Rogers concert), when I received a call from an unknown 215 area-code number.
My mind raced through the different combinations of things it could be: school? a friend? my doctor?
I picked up the phone but couldn’t recognize the voice on the other line.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Hey, Andrew, my name is Ronnie, and this is probably the most unlikely call of your life.”
Puzzled, and with the pit of my stomach in my throat, I proceeded to listen as Ronnie explained who she is: a neighbor in the Fairmount area.
She quickly got to the point. “Your car was broken into last night, and all of your belongings were on the street.”
I was speechless.
“Everything is okay, though. People in the neighborhood have been watching over your car since last night. There was a Nextdoor post about it. My husband and I decided to retrieve your belongings—they’re at our house, and my husband is about to go back to tape up your window!”
I was filled with ambivalent emotions. Exposed and embarrassed that my car was broken into. But also humbled and relieved by the random acts of kindness I listened to. And most of all, I was curious as to who Ronnie and her husband were.
Ronnie then told me more about herself and how she and her husband, Noel, were former journalists (Ronnie had recently left the Inquirer after many years as a columnist and editor; Noel was a researcher and ghost-writer for business books).
She explained how they put their craft to use.
“We found your name written on a piece of paper in your car and Googled you,” said Ronnie. “Long story short, we saw your name mentioned in an Inquirer article about apenndx, and we reached out to the reporter who wrote it, who I used to work with. We got your number through her!”
I didn’t know what else to say and simply blurted out, “I love the investigative work!”
We both shared a laugh. After thanking Ronnie profusely, we talked about logistics and when I’d return to Philadelphia.
On the car ride back home, I kept reflecting on how poetic the situation was. When I joined the apenndx team in 2019, I was excited to be surrounded by such talented classmates and proud of the values we stood for. I was proud that we stood to highlight the noteworthy qualities of our community—compassion, courage, honesty, and humility—especially through instances and acts of kindness at the beginning of COVID. I was proud of how we sought to encourage our readers to think more carefully about the connection and empathy we build when looking after others.
But all of that, truthfully, felt hypothetical.
It seemed too perfect, then, and still seems incredulous that through apenndx I was able to share a real connection and receive a real random act of kindness in the most unlikely circumstance. Ronnie, Noel, and I were able to meet up two days later, when I returned to Philly. I was able to shake hands and hug the people who had been looking after me. And I retrieved my belongings, which were neatly and considerately bundled up.
The next 24 hours were filled with oddities: police reports, fingerprinting, trips to the car shop. But through it all, I felt a calmness and easiness that could only be explained through the connection to and kindness of Ronnie and Noel.
A week later, I happened to walk past the same block my car had been parked on when it was broken into. And in the same exact spot was a car that had been broken into. Fortunately, or unfortunately, there was nothing in the car and no evidence of who the owner was.
But I immediately knew what to do: I called 911 and filed a police report. Then I posted a picture of the car on Facebook, to pass along the kindness that had been passed to me.
Andrew Ahn is a former Publisher of Apenndx and an MS4/CDYO at the Perelman School of Medicine. Andrew can be reached by email at [email protected].
