I am waiting to board a plane on 30th December, sitting next to a family.

Young Boy: “I’m glad we’re not flying on the 31st.”

Mum: “I’ve flown on the 31st of December before. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Young Boy: “I don’t want to get hit by a firework.”

This is my first time flying alone, and I have a five-hour layover in Chicago. I’ve been traveling since 6:00 am and it’s now 2:00 pm and I am craving human interaction. By hour three, I am bored out of my mind, and I pull out my [handheld gaming system] to pass the time while I wait by my gate.

I see a boy my age across the aisle with the same gaming system. I gesture to our gaming systems.

Me: “Twinsies!”

Gamer: *Sounding annoyed* “What are you playing?”

I’m playing a game that’s known for being easy and only popular with younger kids.

Me: “[Game]. You?”

Gamer: *Genuinely disgusted* “Wow.”

He goes back to gaming. Well, okay, I guess this guy won’t be my airport buddy. I’ll find a new airport buddy. About half an hour later, a stressed-looking mom sits in my row with her screaming baby and four- or five-year-old girl who’s begging for attention. As soon as the mom sits down, she gets a phone call, and she walks a few feet away to answer it, leaving the girl alone. She’s obviously very hyper and instantly runs down the aisle and stops at me.

She points at my chips and screams something in Spanish.

I kind of know Spanish; I know “Dora The Explorer” Spanish and I’ve memorized my quesadilla order in Spanish for when I go to food trucks. That’s about it.

Me: “Hi! Hello! No chip for you, no, ma’am!”

My gamer friend from earlier sighs and is acting as dramatic as possible about this small child acting like a small child. There’s more excited Spanish and giggling from the girl, and then she runs back to her seat and comes back with a stuffed pony from an infamous children’s series.

Me: “Oh, wow… Es eso [Blue Horse #1]?” Is that [Blue Horse #1]?

Girl: “NOOO! Eso es [Blue Horse #2]!” No! That’s [Blue Horse #2]!

Me: “Oh, wow! [Blue Horse #2]! Bonita!” Pretty! “I remember her. I used to watch [Show], too—”

Gamer: *Loudly* “Ew.”

I side-eye him but keep talking to the girl.

Me: “Where’s her hat?”

I point to the pony’s head.

Gamer: “I can’t believe you watch that. You’re a grown-a** adult.”

Me: “I’m nineteen.”

Gamer: “See? Grown-a** adult.”

Me: “I’m nineteen. The show came out when I was nine. I watched it when I was nine.”

Gamer: “You’re a f****** [term for people in the fandom], so—”

Me: “Ay! Don’t say the F word in front of a little kid, maybe?!”

The little girl’s mother suddenly whipped around, gasped, ran over and scooped up the girl, and moved to the other side of the terminal.

Way to go, man. You defended the world from a video game and a children’s series that I did, indeed, watch as a child.

We all sat relatively close to each other on the plane, so it was an awkward fly back.

My family has just enjoyed a fun Christmas trip to Japan, the final leg of which was in the northern part of the country, Sapporo. The original plan was to fly from Sapporo to Haneda and then catch a connecting flight there back home.

However, this goes a little awry; during our stay, Sapporo gets hit with a historic amount of snow, which has impeded travel. Our flight does eventually get off the ground, but with a delay of two hours, we’re not confident we’re going to make our connecting flight.

Despite our best efforts, we do miss the cutoff for boarding. Another couple who were trying to make the same flight are there, as well, and we’re all understandably disappointed and frustrated with the circumstances.

We all trudge back to ticketing to see what can be done, and here’s where things go really sideways. The young woman of the other couple immediately raises her voice at the ticket agents, saying how unacceptable this is and that they need to be on that flight, and what are they going to do about it?

Of course, we’re in Tokyo still, and these poor gate agents don’t speak perfect English, which is only frustrating the young woman further. Soon, she’s yelling for a manager. She looks to us as though we’re going to back her up, but my brother simply says it’s frankly more likely that their manager speaks even less English than the gate agents, and it doesn’t change that we missed the flight, which was honestly no one’s fault. She huffs and then proceeds to ignore us and continue her tirade.

At this point, another gate agent opens, and we go to speak with her. We explain the situation and ask if there are any other possible flights or routes that might get us home within roughly the same time frame, and if there aren’t, it’s not a huge deal; we can spend the night if need be. The agent is incredibly apologetic, which we gently brush off; it really wasn’t their fault! Even though we aren’t communicating perfectly, we are able to figure out a new route with her that will have us make one more stop but get us home only a few hours later than expected.

We thank her profusely and start to head out with our new tickets, but she calls us back. The other couple is still fighting with the other agents and their manager — who, as expected, doesn’t speak as much English as the customer-facing gate agents — and our agent quietly thanks us for being so calm. She sends us along with passes for one of the nicer lounges where we can grab a shower, free drinks, and a bite to eat while we wait.

We joke around now that the couple is probably still there, uncomfortable and yelling. Truly, just being understanding and kind where you can greases a lot of wheels!

I’m notorious for forgetting where I’ve left my car in a car park. I literally leave the car park and the location of my car is just deleted from my head. In car parks I visit frequently, I always park in the same general area so I have at least some chance of finding my car. In strange car parks, I try to note down something to give me a clue as to where my car is.

I’m picking my boyfriend up from the airport, and I know that I won’t find my car as the car park is huge, over several stories, so I take precautions.

Boyfriend: “So, where’s your car?”

Me: “In area 3C.”

Boyfriend: “And do you know where you parked it?”

Me: “Yep, I made sure I’d find it this time!”

We find area 3C.

Me: “There’s my car!”

Boyfriend: “Where? Oh… Oh, no… REALLY?!”

My car was really easy to spot. It had three huge, pink helium balloons and a pile of sparkly tinsel tied to the antenna.

My parents, two brothers, and I are flying to visit some family. We have an early flight, so we have to be at the airport before most of the gate agents are in and manning the stations. The airline we are flying with does have a self-check-in option, which we try to use.

My dad has all the info and starts quickly getting everyone scanned in, getting the claim tickets for the checked bags we have, etc. Things go just fine for him, my mom, and me. He starts trying to check in my brothers and the system starts giving notices about needing to talk to someone.

My dad starts selecting the “help wanted” button on the machine. Nothing happens. He can’t continue checking anyone in, there are no other errors on the screen, and it won’t let him cancel or start over. He then goes up to the counter and we have to wait another five minutes before someone finally comes up to the counter.

My dad explains what is going on and the agent asks for all our information, even for the ones that have already been checked in. The attendant starts typing and pauses, kind of side-eyes my family, and types some more. After a few minutes of typing and side-eyeing, my dad asks him what’s going on. The attendant glances at his screen and takes a breath and asks:

Attendant: “Which of you is [Brother #1]?

Brother #1: “Uh, that’s me.”

The attendant blinks a couple of times and starts typing again. My dad asks what is going on. It turns out that someone with the same name as my brother is on the no-fly list! We weren’t able to check in because the system had flagged him. The attendant made some more notes and got both my brothers checked in, and we got to the gate and had a great vacation.

Of course, now, almost any time my brother flies, he has to go up to the counter and prove to them that he’s not really the one on the no-fly list. He usually adds another thirty to sixty minutes to the time he has to be at the airport, just in case there are lines at the counter.