I was a fifty-five-year-old lady delivery driver. I had been doing it for four years or so at the time. This happened over ten years ago, so some of the particulars are a bit fuzzy, but I clearly remember that it was a horrible night — probably the worst night I had ever had.

The teenagers making pizzas were messing up. We were shorthanded. Addresses and phone numbers were wrong. I had to do a couple of redeliveries due to the wrong pizza toppings. The phone kept ringing, and no one was answering, so I had to delay delivering to answer the phone. It was busy, and they had trouble keeping up. It was just a truly bad night.

It was getting close to closing, and I had one delivery left. I was so looking forward to going home and chilling, and I was ready to forget that night.

There were three or four pizzas on the order, and it was going to an address I had never been to before. I hate new customers; you never know how nice or s***ty they might be. I got to the house in less than four minutes; thankfully, it was close to the shop. There were a bunch of cars in the driveway and parked in front of the house. Cool, party!

I went into the open garage since that’s where the party was. I put on my customer service smile, and then I heard:

Voice: “HEY! [MY NAME]! How you doing?”

OMFG! I recognized Mr. Favorite Regular, and he was waving me over with a beer in his hand.

Mr. Favorite Regular: “Hey, everyone, this is [My Name], the best driver from [Pizza Place]! -Here, have a beer!”

Now, this was not the first beer I had been offered when delivering, but it was the first beer I ever accepted. I got to meet Mr. Favorite Regular’s brother and all their friends and family, and all of them welcomed me like my butt was made of gold. I guzzled that beer like a man lost in the desert for three days guzzles water. There was joking, hugging, and backslapping, another beer appeared in my hand, and there was lots and lots of laughter.

It was absolutely FUN-DERFUL, but alas, I had to get back to the shop, and I was worried I might get stopped by our local officers with beer on my breath, so I said my goodbyes, hugged Mr. Favorite Regular and some of my new friends, and headed back to my car.

I had parked on the side of the street in front of the driveway, but my car was GONE! Oh, s***! I had left the keys in the car, and some suckface had stolen it!

Then, I looked back toward the party, and they were all standing in front of the garage laughing their a**es off!

Why? Someone had snuck out of the party and moved my car a block down the road. These f***ers thought they were hilarious.

And they were right! I laughed my golden a** off all the way to my car as I gave them the double bird they so richly deserved.

Best. Night. Ever!

CONTENT WARNING: Death, Cancer
 

I’m not sure if this is because I work in a smaller rural hospital, but it was something I was glad to be part of; I’m not sure we could have gotten away with this in a larger hospital.

I’m an administrative assistant at a hospital. I have no formal medical training outside of CPR and recovery positions, but I assist the nurses and doctors enough to have seen my fair share of medical emergencies.

Mr. Smith (name changed, obviously) is one of our patients who has recently taken a turn for the worse. He has terminal cancer and isn’t expected to last the night. He is in his late nineties and his family has been preparing for this day, so they’re all in the area and coming by to spend some precious moments with him.

I’m standing at the reception doing some of my work when I see a woman who I recognize to be one of Mr. Smith’s relatives standing at the entrance. She seems hesitant to come in, so I approach and ask if everything is okay.

Relative: “Well, I am trying to see how I can go about bringing Copper into the hospital.”

Me: “Copper? Like the metal?”

Relative: “What? Oh, gosh, no! This is Copper!”

She stands aside, and I am shocked to find that I didn’t notice the tiny old dog standing behind her. He looks like a cross between a Jack Russel terrier and… something… but I can certainly tell how he got his name. His coat is a brilliant copper color!

Relative: “Copper is Mr. Smith’s absolute best friend. We wanted to see if we could bring him in to see him one last time, but we understand as hospitals aren’t designed to be pet-friendly.”

Me: “Stay here for just one moment.”

As luck would have it, one of the hospital administrators is at reception talking to a few managers. I politely interrupt and explain the situation, pointing over by the entrance as I do. They all look over, and I observe a solemn resolve come across all their faces.

Hospital Administrator: “We still do occasional visits from support dogs for Pediatrics, right?”

Manager: “We do.”

Hospital Administrator: “I don’t care what it takes, but get something filed for Copper.”

Manager: “On it.”

Hospital Administrator: *Pointing at me* “You, with me.”

We both head over to the entrance, and the hospital administrator says hello.

Hospital Administrator: “Hi, [Relative]. I’m so sorry for what you and your family are going through. Please follow me, and we’ll get you and Copper in to see your grandfather.”

We exit the hospital, walk around to the side, and enter a side entrance only accessible by hospital staff. We are mere feet away from Mr. Smith’s room.

Hospital Administrator: “[My Name], please take them to Mr. Smith’s room. I’ll go see the ward manager and explain the situation.”

I do as I’m told, and as soon as Copper enters the room, both he and Mr. Smith come to life. The dog jumps up on the bed, a licking frenzy ensues, and Mr. Smith starts crying. A moment ago, he was too weak to move, but now he’s mustered the energy to embrace his dog.

Mr. Smith: “My Copper! My little Copper!”

Since my shift ended at 6:00 pm, I was told what happened throughout the night by the nurses.

That little copper dog stayed embraced by Mr. Smith until the very end. Relatives came and went and paid their respects, but Copper sat by his master and didn’t let go. It was as if he knew what was coming and was preparing himself, too.

When the moment came, Copper licked Mr. Smith’s forehead one last time and got up for the first time in hours. There were tears and the usual protocols were followed, and the granddaughter I had spoken with the day before took Copper home. He had gone back to being quiet and still, like when I had first noticed him.

A month or so later, our hospital received a huge bouquet of flowers, sent from the family, thanking us for making their relative’s passing as peaceful as possible. The card was signed by the family members — including a little paw print from Copper.

The card explained that Copper was living with the granddaughter now and took weekend walks to Mr. Smith’s grave to say hello. Everyone who read the card teared up. Working at a hospital, you see death pretty regularly, but this one got to us.

May we all get a Copper in our lives!

This story reminded me of why I used to drive fifteen miles past three other grocery stores to shop at my favorite one.

My son was five years old and not exactly the best at remembering anything. For example, he’d forget he was clutching one of his favorite toys, or he’d forget that we don’t live in the grocery store.

We were about to check out when he said:

Son: “I left Mr. Mouse on a shelf.”

Me: “Which shelf?”

He just shrugged. Terrific.

I asked at the customer service desk if anyone had turned in a palm-sized stuffed mouse with half of a plastic Easter Egg on its head. (What can I say? My child was creative.) No one had. I looked through the aisles where we’d gone, but the mouse never turned up.

As I was leaving, they asked me if I’d found it. They seemed genuinely concerned.

Well, they seemed genuinely concerned because they WERE genuinely concerned.

Whatever transpired next in the store must have involved an aisle-by-aisle search with walkie-talkies and storewide announcements, scouring the place from top to bottom, hunting for Mr. Mouse. By the time I got home, I had a message on my voicemail. Mr. Mouse was secured, orange helmet and all.

We put away the groceries and returned to the store. I made sure my son thanked everyone he could.

Related:
My Family, And Other Animals, Part 14

My friends and I travel by train from our town to a big city to go to a gaming convention. It’s the second year we’ve done it, and it’s a lot of fun, but the actual travel is a bit tiring. Nevertheless, we manage to make it to the convention center in good time and with all our gear.

Or so we thought.

Friend: “I don’t have my convention badge.”

Some back-and-forth more or less confirms that he left it on the train somehow, but the convention rules are clear: no badge, no admittance. We’re at a bit of a loss until we remember the glory of instant communication and contact the convention through their official social media address.

Good news! We’re told that if [Friend] goes to the Will Call desk, they’ll give him a new badge.

He gets in line, explains the situation, and is summarily told that they don’t have any extra badges and can’t give him one. He tries to explain again, even showing the replies that he got from the social media account, but their hands are tied; they have rules and they can’t do anything about it. They are very apologetic, but we eventually determine that they literally don’t have any extra badges. They have the badges for people coming to the Will Call desk and that’s it. Giving one of them to my friend would result in someone else not getting their badge, and that’s not acceptable to either us or them.

We’re all pretty upset; the big draw of the convention for the three of us is going together, and if he can’t get in, we’re not going to leave him behind no matter how much he insists that we do it. Disheartened, he explains his experience through the social media account and gets a surprising response.

Social Media: “Where are you right now?”

Friend: “I’m… at the entrance, near the Will Call booth?”

About two minutes later, the business manager of the company that runs the convention (aka the guy who organizes, runs, and markets the convention) walks up.

Business Manager: “[Friend]?”

Friend: “Uh… yes?”

Business Manager: “Enjoy the show.”

And with that, he handed a badge to my friend and walked off without another word, leaving us completely flabbergasted at the actions of the absolute top guy who most likely had a TON of other stuff to do on the opening day of a 50,000-person convention.

He didn’t even let us thank him before he took off!

This was during the launch of the SNES Classic (Super Nintendo Entertainment System). Anyone who remembers the launch of the NES classic remembers just what a dumpster fire it was; from massive demand to underwhelming product amounts, it was a nightmare all around. Imagine my surprise when we not only got enough SNES Classics to last until 10:00 am at the latest!

At around 10:00, a dad and his kid came in to get the SNES Classic, which was our last one for the day. As he was checking out, an elderly lady made it up to the counter and asked if we had any left. She didn’t seem too upset over having missed out by about a minute, but she had to stop and take a breath, having some health issues.

Now, normally, you’d expect the dad and his kid to get the item, and that’d be where it ended.

To my surprise, the dad immediately offered the lady the last console. She declined. It turned into an argument over who should have it, but instead of each of them arguing on their behalf, they were arguing that the other should have it. In the end, the elderly lady won, and the dad and his kid walked away with the console.

I have never seen anything like that before or after that point.