I’m taking a trip to visit family across the country. To get to the airport, I take a three-hour bus trip from my small town to a major city. I’m also pregnant, and I’m anxious about this trip. I get to the airport okay and go to check in for my flight. I go to pull out my wallet and can’t find it. I go into panic mode. I double-check all of my bags, pockets, and everywhere I can think of, and it’s not there. I call the bus company, knowing that I at least left home with it.

Me: “Hi. I took the [line] bus to [City] airport, and I think I left my wallet on the bus. I can’t board my flight without it. Is there any way to get a hold of the bus driver?”

Agent: “Oh, I can try, but I don’t know if he’d be okay with going back to the airport to drop it off.”

Me: “Please, I’m three hours from home and stranded without it.”

The agent takes my information, including a description of my wallet, and says she’ll reach out to the driver. I find somewhere to sit, and I wait. About a half hour later, I get a call.

Driver: “Hi, is this [My Name]?”

Me: “It is!”

Driver: “Lovely! I have your wallet here; it’s right where you left it on your seat. I’m at [Grocery Store]. Once I check out, I’ll swing by the airport right where I dropped you off. Is that all right?”

Me: “Oh, my God, yes! Thank you so much!”

A little bit later, I’m out by the drop-off station, and the bus pulls up. The driver comes out and hands me a plastic shopping bag. I peer inside, and not only is my wallet inside, but there’s also a package of cookies.

Driver: “I figured you’d be worried sick, being pregnant and all that. Hopefully, this makes your day better!”

Me: “Oh, my God! You have no clue how much you’ve helped. Thank you!”

I got checked in, and while waiting at the gate, I made sure to email the bus company to thank the driver for coming to the rescue — and for the cookies.

Related:
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles, Part 2
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles

My parents were visiting my sister (who was an exchange student in the US maaaaaaaaany years ago). At the airport, some worker was very condescending because here were these stupid tourists who didn’t know where they were going. They kept repeating, “Cleveland, Tennessee,” and refused to accept that they couldn’t go to both Cleveland and Tennessee.

Yes, my sister was an exchange student in Cleveland… Tennessee. Amusingly, some years after that, I was an exchange student and ended up in a suburb of Cleveland. The one in Ohio, that is.

I am at an airport waiting for my flight to take off. There are regular announcements about not leaving your bags unattended or with strangers, so I make it a point to only bring what I can carry easily and check the rest of my luggage.

A woman in her fifties comes up to me, the only other woman waiting in the terminal.

Woman: “Watch my bags? I need to run up to get a cup of coffee.”

She points to the coffee shop down the hallway.

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

The announcement about unattended baggage comes on the speaker just then. I point up. 

Me: “See?”

Woman: “Why? I won’t be ten minutes! I don’t want to deal with dragging these with me in line.”

Me: “I wouldn’t be comfortable taking care of a stranger’s belongings. I’m sorry.”

Woman: “I’m asking you to do me a favor, woman to woman! I can’t haul my bags everywhere with me!”

Me: “I’m sorry again, but I’m not going to watch your things.”

The woman takes her wallet from her gigantic purse and leaves her bags anyway. Shortly after, an airline employee approaches me.

Employee: “Hi, miss. We have to gate check all large luggage because this is a small plane. Do you have any [list of items that can’t go under the plane] in your bags?”

Me: “Oh, I only have my purse.”

Employee: “What’s all this?”

He gestures to the woman’s rolling luggage, large purse, and duffel bag.

Me: “Not mine. A woman left it here after I told her I wouldn’t watch it. She went to get a coffee.”

Employee: “I see.”

He checked the name on the bag tag and walked away. The woman returned while he was talking. She was escorted away from the terminal, and I didn’t see her boarding, so I don’t know what happened to her or her baggage.

My hometown’s airport serves a variety of commercial airplanes. On one flight I had from there to Denver, the airplane was a propeller-driven plane with about twenty rows of two seats each, one on each side of the aisle. My printed boarding pass listed my seat as 1-B. I was pleased, as this probably meant I would have more legroom for my six-foot body.

As I boarded the plane and passed the flight attendant, I looked at the first seat on the right side of the plane. Its seat number was 2-B. There weren’t any other passenger seats in front of it. I turned to the flight attendant, showing her my boarding pass and pointing at the “1-B” on it.

Me: “Excuse me. It looks like I’m the copilot.”

Flight Attendant: *Laughing* “Sorry, they have this plane mislabeled in the computer. We’re not a full flight, so sit where you’d like.”

I went ahead and sat in 2-B. There were no issues with anyone who had “2-B” on their boarding pass.

I was traveling to Miami from the UK toward the end of a period of leave following a tour of duty in a certain Middle Eastern country in the early 2010s. During my leave, I had neglected the usual grooming standards usually required of soldiers because, hey, I was on leave, and screw the standards.

Everything on the journey went perfectly well until I reached the immigration checkpoint in Miami. A TSA agent spent a good minute staring at my British passport and back at me.

TSA Agent: “Your hair is different than your picture.”

Me: “Umm… yeah… It grew.”

I was let through without any further questions. They do know hair grows, right?

I was baffled to say the least.