(I am about 10 years old and am shopping for Christmas presents for my family. I am allowed to go off by myself, with strict instructions from my parents when and where to meet up with them. I go into one shop and notice one of those interactive dance mats you plug into a TV, like they have in games arcades, and I know my sister really wants one, so I purchase it. The shop is also running a promotion where you get a free stocking with every purchase, and I am SO excited. When I meet up with my parents, I proudly show them the gift I bought and gush about my stocking.)

Me: *excitedly* “Mum, Dad, look! Isn’t it great?!”

(My parents exchange a look.)

Mum: “Well done, sweetheart; I know she wanted one. But Dad and I have actually already bought her one. You’ll have to take it back.”

(I am crushed. I head back to the shop very upset; not only am I very disappointed that I don’t have an awesome gift for my sister and am going to lose my stocking, I have severe anxiety and am convinced the shop workers will be angry with me or think I’m stupid for returning something half an hour after buying it.)

Sales Assistant: “How can I help you?”

Me: “Hi, I… um… I need to return this.” *hands over dance mat*

Sales Assistant: “Okay, is there anything wrong with it?”

Me: *tearing up* “No, it’s just not needed anymore.”

(The sales assistant looks at me for a minute.)

Sales Assistant: “Are you sure? If it’s just unwanted we can offer store credit, but if it’s broken I can give you your money back.” *she smiles* “So… is there anything wrong with it?”

(She nods at me encouragingly.)

Me: “Um… yes? It’s broken.”

Sales Assistant: *brightly* “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that! Here; let me get you your refund.” *she hands me the money* “And please keep the stocking as a gift from us, to make up for the inconvenience!”

(She winked at me. Stammering my thanks, I left and rejoined my parents. That was 18 years ago now, and I still remember that worker’s kindness to a sad little girl on what must have been a difficult shift. Thinking about it restores my faith in humanity, even now. Thank you, lady.)

(I work at popular “emo” store, but we also sell things relating to Harry Potter, anime, etc. One day, a mom walks in followed by the most adorable little girl I have ever seen. They look around awhile before finding something they like.)

Girl: “Look, Mommy! A Stitch onesie!”

Mom: *looking at me* “Can she try it on?”

Me: “Of course!”

(The little girl puts on the onesie and it basically maximizes her cuteness factor. You know that warm, fuzzy feeling of, “Holy f***; that’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” when you’re looking at, like, chinchillas? That is what I am getting from this.)

Mom: “You look so cute! How much?”

Girl: “Forty bucks.”

Mom: “Oh… that’s a little expensive.”

(I can’t take the cute. It’s too much.)

Me: “You know what? We have coupons for twenty percent off for extra-special customers. And that was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Girl: “Yeah! Thank Miss Store Lady! You’re awesome!”

(She gave me a hug before taking the onesie off and running to the checkout with her mom. The little girl has come in since then, and is always just as adorable, but this was definitely the cutest.)

(My mother passed away from cancer a few months ago. She and my six-year-old daughter were the best of friends, often getting into mischief together. Not long after, my daughter comes downstairs looking woebegone.)

Daughter: “Mummy, I don’t want to go to school today. I don’t feel well.”

Me: “Oh, sweetheart, that’s no good. What’s the matter?”

Daughter: “I’ve got cancer.”

Me: “You’ve got… how do you know, sweetie?”

Daughter: “I caught it off Grammie.”

Me: “Sweetie, cancer isn’t contagious. You can’t catch it off someone. Now look me in the eye and tell me honestly: do you really not feel well, or do you just not want to go to school?”

Daughter: “I… well… I don’t want to go to school.”

Me: “I thought so. Why did you say you had cancer?”

Daughter: “Because Grammie told me that the one good thing about having cancer meant she didn’t have to go anywhere if she didn’t feel like it. And I don’t feel like going to school!”

(Needless to say, my daughter and her “contagious cancer” were packed off to school as usual. She’s been “in remission” ever since!)

(One of my favorite parts of my job is when our adoptable cats from the local shelter get new homes and I get to see a happy family take home their new furry friend. The shelter we work with often has special holiday adoption fees; one of them is $14 for Valentine’s Day. The weekend of Valentine’s Day, a mom and her son, who I’d peg between seven and nine years old, come in to adopt a cat they’ve been visiting in the store for a week. The shelter volunteer runs the paperwork and gets everything set. Then…)

Volunteer: “Okay, that’ll be fourteen dollars please!”

Son: “I wanna pay for it!”

([Volunteer] and I watch as the little boy digs around in his pockets, pulling out crumpled $1s and $5s until he has enough, and hands the pile to [Volunteer].)

Son: *proudly* “I saved my allowance for two weeks to be able to adopt her!”

(I have tears in my eyes, and I can see [Volunteer] does too as she takes the small pile of crumpled bills and smooths them out. The little boy’s mother is absolutely beaming at her son.)

Volunteer: “All right, it looks like you’re all set—”

Son: “Oh, wait a sec!” *digs in his pocket, pulls out another $1 bill and hands it to [Volunteer]* “I saved up an extra dollar to donate to the rest of the animals.”

(I couldn’t believe how sweet and mature this little boy was. On their way out I told his mother she should be very proud of her son, and she assured me she was. I know that kitty went to a very loving home, and I hope that little boy stays this sweet and kind his whole life!)

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(I am about seven years old, and it is Christmas Eve. My parents convince me to go to bed hours before, but out of excitement I’ve not gone to sleep yet. I hear my dad head into the attic.)

Me: “Daddy?”

Dad: *clearly surprised to hear me calling so late* “You should be asleep!”

Me: “I know, but, Daddy?”

Dad: “What?”

Me: “Are you getting your Santa uniform?”

(I still believed in Santa… because I was convinced my dad was Santa! A few years later, when my best friend told me the truth, I realised I hadn’t been too far off the mark!)