When I was in high school, I worked in a tiny little ice cream stand. I had a little brother who was fifteen years younger, and I was also very young-looking.

I was working one day with one other girl, and we were chatting away as we helped customers standing at the window. I was talking about how tired I was after chasing around a two-year-old all day. All the girls knew and loved my baby brother.

The middle-aged man at my window leaned in and said, very loudly and judgementally:

Man: “What are you doing with a two-year-old?!“

We both stopped, stunned, for a second.

Me: “Taking care of my baby brother while my parents work. Do you wanna take your foot out of your mouth now?”

He just mumbled something, took his ice cream, and left. Honestly, I was a super timid teen and I was pretty proud of myself for standing up to his rude comment.

My local supermarket does a food drive for a local and large food kitchen year-round, but during the November/December weeks, they add a bonus in: whatever gets donated, they will match it. Double the donations for no extra effort!

In previous years, I have been living paycheck-to-paycheck. I’ve never had to use the soup kitchen, but I’ve always been aware of it. So, when I realised I had extra in my bank account last year, I jumped on that double-your-donation drive and filled up a trolley with $100 of whatever non-perishable goods my friends and I could think of that might be enjoyed and used by the kitchen.

This year, I had a promotion at this new well-paying job, so I had even more money. I figured I’d do a bigger trolley this year! I meant to go as I had last year before Christmas, but with one thing and another, the feast was upon us, and I’d missed my pre-holiday window. But rather than let that stop me, I finished work on Boxing Day, made sure the supermarket was still open for a little bit longer — around half an hour by the time I’d walked there — and got there before it closed.

Every single staff member I talked to was wonderfully kind and polite. To them, I must have seemed like a nightmare, showing up just before closing in a busy time of year with a trolley that was just bursting with stuff. The cashier I got had just been pulled to open a new lane because the lines were piling up and got to stare down the barrel of this monster trolley.

One person working on stock was more than willing to drop what they were doing to run up the ladder and fetch me trays of items from the cages over the shelves and fetch me a larger trolley as I realised I’d foolishly taken a small one. They even took a few extra moments to look through the trays of cans I was after and specifically picked ones that were well-wrapped — both so it was easier to lift them but also to make his colleagues’ time counting them easier as they would be able to see the items hadn’t been tampered with.

The cashier was a wonder. Even though I could see that look of panic as the items started piling up, no unkind words were spent, and they took care that none of the fragile breakfast foods were crushed as I unpacked the can trays from the depths. They had one of those annoying systems that wouldn’t let them key in multiples, so everything had to be counted through. I made sure to put all the same items together and they absolutely nailed the speed factor — something anyone who’s done a register knows gets more difficult but also easier when you just want to get home.

Not a single one of them was anything but warm and kind, and one of them boggled when I walked back to customer service with the fully-paid mess, waited for my turn, and then told them this was all for the food drive. They had to get a duty manager down to put it somewhere special. All managed with ten minutes to spare until closing.

It would have been so easy for someone to roll their eyes or make a sarcastic comment, to sigh or huff, or just be robotic. But this staff made the whole trip a joy.

It’s December 26th, and my mom is shopping with some gift cards she got for Christmas. I have gone with her as I need to translate for her, but not for reasons you might think. She speaks only English, but… well…

Mom: *To an employee* “I need a screen with buttons.”

Me: “She needs a smartphone.”

The employee is relieved and walks us over to the section.

Mom: “I want a blueberry with teeth.”

The employee looks at me, again.

Me: “Blackberry, BlueTooth.”

Good thing I can speak fluent Mom!

I work in a restaurant. It’s Christmas Day, 2017. We’re fully booked; it’s bookings only for a four-course dinner and complimentary champagne. The last seating has passed, and a family walks in.

These people are some of our regulars. Apart from the usual family, which is a husband, a wife, and two young daughters (ages four and two), there are also a few other family members with them. It’s an eight-person table.

I have never seen a guy look so broken. The second they enter, they start apologising, as they know it’s bookings only. The husband then utters a sentence that no one wants to hear, especially on Christmas Day:

Husband: “We had a power cut all morning, and then once the power was back on… the oven broke. You guys are the only place that we knew was open.”

Every single staff member in the place then proceeded to move Heaven and earth to find this group a table, high chairs, and kids’ colouring books. The kitchen, already incredibly tired and stretched to its max, began to pile these eight plates with possibly the biggest roast dinners I have ever seen. The side dishes were just as impressive.

I’ve mentioned that the family had two young children; this, of course, means some mess. We had buttered, minted peas as a side dish, and MANY of these ended up on the floor.

I’ve never been so touched as I was to see this 6’4” man, who had previously worked as a bouncer and was generally built like a brick s***house ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES under a table that he could barely fit under, just to pick up the errant vegetables that his children had dropped. He wouldn’t even stop after we said it was okay to leave it.

They then proceeded to buy a round of drinks for the entire staff AND they tipped around 40%.

The table was the cleanest I have ever seen, especially from a party of that size.

I’m a retail manager for a retail drug store chain, and Friday nights are very busy. Everyone is excited for the weekend and alcohol sales are up.

It starts off as a typical Friday night until [Man] walks in. He makes his way to the cooler to buy a six-pack of beer in glass bottles. On his way there, he decides to hit on a woman and ask for her number. The woman’s boyfriend immediately confronts [Man].

Boyfriend: “[Woman] is my girlfriend!”

To get the full picture, the woman has a stroller with a baby in it, and her boyfriend is a large guy with tattoos for eyebrows and several extreme piercings.

Both parties go their separate ways until checkout.

[Man] is in front of [Boyfriend] and [Woman] tries again to ask [Woman] for her number.

Boyfriend: *In a tougher, firmer voice* “Leave my girlfriend alone!”

After [Man] pays for his beer, he decides to wait outside, and again, he asks [Woman] for her number. [Boyfriend] is now mad. He grabs [Man]’s beer and slams it against a concrete pillar outside the store. Glass breaks, and there’s a large puddle of beer.

Boyfriend: “Next time, that’s your head.”

And he leaves with [Woman].

That is only the start of the crazy night with [Man]. He comes back in and asks for a manager.

Man: “I’d like a replacement for my beer.”

Manager: “Because we didn’t break your beer, we cannot replace it. We can call the police, though, so you can report the assault and the loss.”

Man: “The store would get a lot of bad publicity with the police and being on the news, so it would be cheaper and less stressful if you just give me another pack of beer.”

We kept saying no, multiple times.

Then, [Man] started a tantrum. He started punching the concrete poles, throwing whatever he could get his hands on, and even toppling the trash cans.

I called the police not once, but twice. Unfortunately, it took the police half an hour to get to the store. During that half-hour, [Man] was harassing customers and throwing his tantrum. Luckily, the other manager who was on duty with me was large and burly and offered to escort customers to their cars.

At one point, [Man] even tried to grab the manager’s leg like a little kid, begging for a beer.

When the police finally arrived, [Man] was throwing his shoes. He picked up a piece of broken glass, looking like he was ready to charge. That’s when the police drew their guns and ordered [Man] to put his hands up and get on the ground.

The police told me that what they had witnessed was enough for them to arrest him, but they took my statement for good measure.

Had [Man] just listened to [Boyfriend]’s first warning, he’d be home alone enjoying some beer. Instead, he spent the night in jail alone with no beer.