This spring—during my fourth year of college—I had what I will forever call “The Ultimate Week of Torture.” I was faced with the impossible: two midterms, two papers, four quizzes, two graduate school applications and one fellowship essay, all due by Friday. And adding to all that, I had promised to participate in UC Davis’ Week of Service. I thought I had met my match.

Each year UC Davis, through the Human Corps Office, puts on an event called the Week of Service. Community-oriented entities, like Sacramento-based Loaves and Fishes and the Davis Red Cross, post time slots on the Web for UC Davis students to enroll in one-time service events. I had volunteered to help over a month ago, and of course I did not consult my syllabus, so here I was stuck in “The Ultimate Week of Torture” with no time to spare and a three-hour commitment in Sacramento. Boy, was I stressed! Thursday rolled around and I turned in my papers, took my two midterms, completed three of the four quizzes and was determined to follow through on my promise.

At 10:45 a.m. I ran from class to my car, sped toward Sacramento, got stuck in traffic on the causeway and knew I was going to be late for the 11 a.m. starting time. When I finally reached the exit around 11:30 a.m., I made my way toward C Street and—to put the cherry on top of the sundae—I got lost. Thanks to a cell phone and a wonderful friend at home, I got my directions straightened out and made it to Loaves and Fishes just under an hour late.

As I stepped out of my car, I noticed that the street was lined with homeless persons. But many wore a smile and gave me a hello as I walked by, and when I stepped inside the crowded cafeteria, volunteers and the needy alike welcomed me without reprimand for my tardiness. I was quickly given gloves and some brief instructions about my role as a hostess, and I was off and running. The other Davis students and I were serving food, wiping down tables, pouring water and having an amazing time. Each person who walked through the door brought personality to the room. Two ladies in maybe their early 80s came in wearing matching shoes, sweaters and hats, and giggled throughout their meal. Bill, an older gentleman I had served, sat peacefully in the corner, eating slowly; every time I came by to see how he was doing he gave me a wonderful smile, which brought me to his side of the room more often than necessary.

Gradually I noticed the room was clearing and the cleanup had begun. For the first time, I looked at my watch—it was already 2:30 p.m. As we made sure all the dishes and pans were finished, a woman yelled across the room to us, “Thank you, we really appreciate you guys coming out.” I beamed. I said goodbye to my fellow UC Davis students and drove home a happier person. There could not have been a better way for me to spend my afternoon during “The Ultimate Week of Torture.”