(My coworker is in her last half-hour of her last day at the bookstore, and she’s ready for revenge. All summer long, we’ve had the mandatory summer reading section set up. Of course, 90% of the students come in with Mom and Dad two days before school starts to get their books. A sixteen-year-old boy comes in with his parents.)

Coworker: “May I find something for you?”

Boy: “I need a summer reading book.”

Coworker: “Okay. What’s it called?”

Boy: “I dunno, but it has 186 pages.”

Coworker: *to the boy and his parents* “Do you have your list?”

Boy & Parents: *blank faces*

Boy: “It has 186 pages.”

(There are easily 100 books on the summer reading shelves. I see it coming and I don’t believe she’s really going to do it…)

Coworker: *pointing to the rack* “In this section are all the books under 100 pages. Over here are all the books from 100 to 250 pages.” *walks away*

(I have a serious phobia of needles due to a traumatic incident when I was a child, and because of this I always need someone present with me to cope with the situation. I am due to have very minor surgery on my arm, but I will need two needles during the operation. My boyfriend schedules off to go with me, but on the day of, he is called into work. I can’t cancel or I will incur a large fee, so I decide to tough it out and go. When I am called into the room, the nurse starts asking me questions, and I let her know that I have a phobia of needles. As soon as she leaves the room I enter into hysterics. I end up calling a friend, and he calms me down by the time the doctor returns with the nurse. They keep my friend on speaker, the nurse holds my hand, and they all keep me laughing so much I don’t have time to cry. These are just some of my favorite moments from the hour-long procedure.)

Doctor: “You’re telling me you’re getting birth control, but you’re afraid of a little prick?”

(Another moment…)

Friend: “You still alive over there?”

Me: “I sure hope so. Is everything going all right?”

Doctor: “Oh, you’ll know something’s wrong when you hear me walk out the door saying, ‘I am not dealing with that paperwork today.’”

(Another moment…)

Me: *to nurse* “Is it really bad?”

Nurse: “Don’t ask me, I’m not looking! Why do you think I need to hold your hand?!”

(Another moment…)

Me: “Thank you so much for being so nice to me. I know, as an adult, I should be able to handle this all by now. I know it’s not logical; I just work myself up and go into hysterics.”

Doctor: “And while you were in the room with me, you didn’t cry once. Sometimes it’s not your fault that you’re scared. Sometimes it’s the fault of the people around you for not knowing how to make you feel safe.”

(I can’t thank those three enough for not only making a terrible experience into a great memory, but for helping relieve some of the self-hatred I had due to my phobia. If I ever need a shot again, I know exactly where I want to go!)

(The gym where I’m employed has a monthly fee and a smaller fee that’s automatically charged on the same day once a year. This fee is to help cover maintenance, new equipment, paint and tile upgrades, parking lot resurfacing, etc. I work at the front desk and, as this is my first year, this is my first time fielding questions regarding this charge. I have been dealing with dozens of phone calls and walk-ins from angry members for the past week when a regular member comes in carrying a box of donuts.)

Member: “I saw that you all charged me a fee on top of my regular monthly fee last week.”

Me: *preparing for the worst* “Yes, ma’am, if you still have a copy of your contract, you’ll see—“

Member: “Oh, I know. I read my contract after seeing the charge and found where it says you all need a yearly enhancement fee. I bet you’ve had to explain it to many angry people.”

Me: “You have no idea!”

Member: “Well, I was almost one of them until I read my contract again. I can only imagine what you all up front have had to go through with this. I thought these donuts might brighten your day, as well as that of the rest of the front desk crew.”

Me: “Wow! Thank you so much!”

Member: “No worries. Don’t let the bad ones get you down!”

(My faith in humanity and my club’s members was pretty much restored after that!)

(My grandmother and I are watching my youngest sisters’ softball game.)

Grandma: “I used to play baseball, you know.”

Me: “You did?”

Grandma: “Yup!”

(She imitates hitting the ball. I notice she is batting left.)

Me: “Aren’t you right-handed?”

Grandma: “Yes. But I always hit things left on sports.”

Me: “Why?”

Grandma: “When I was little, we had a tetherball at my school. I was shorter than the other girls, so they always, always made me hit left even though I was right-handed. Then, I got good at it, and I could hit hard with my left and my right.”

(She smirks.)

Grandma: “Idiots got their butts kicked every time.”

(My husband and I go to a local restaurant for our anniversary, which falls on a Wednesday. The restaurant is surprisingly busy and by the frazzled faces of the workers, they weren’t expecting the rush, either. We are sat in a booth with high walls so it feels rather secluded, but we often hear a lot of muffled raised voices trailing over the wall between the booths. Between gaps of what sounds like a heated discussion, we periodically see our waiter rush past, looking more and more frazzled. However, every time he comes to our table he is absolutely fantastic and nothing but cheerful and polite. He is obviously in a hurry and rushed off his feet, but he takes the time to ask how our day has been and if we are celebrating anything and so on. All the while, the other tables around us seem to all be cranky with whatever first-world problems they are dealing with. This is what happens when we have finished our meals.)

Waiter: “How was everything?”

Me: “Fantastic, thanks.”

Husband: “Definitely great.”

Waiter: “Great! Can I get you anything else? Dessert menu, maybe?”

Me: “Oh, no, thanks. We are both incredibly full.”

Waiter: “I am glad to hear it. Sorry for the bit of delay. We’re a little short staffed, but I hope that you enjoyed your anniversary regardless.”

Me: “Oh, we absolutely have. And we were just saying what a great job you’re doing. It’s pretty busy tonight, but we really haven’t had to wait long at all.”

Husband: “Yeah. We could hear people getting a little worked up.”

Waiter: “Gosh, I am sorry about that. I hope they didn’t bother you.”

Husband: “No, it’s fine. But sorry you have to deal with that. You’re obviously working as fast as you can.”

Waiter: “Thank you very much; that means a lot. Actually, in truth, I am a manager and usually spend my time on the books, so I am a little rusty out here. I don’t know how the others do it. But I appreciate the compliments.”

Husband: “No worries! Can we please have these leftovers for takeaway?” *gestures at plates*

Waiter: “Sure, no problem. Do you want all of these or just these?” *gesturing to different configurations*

Me: “Oh, just surprise us. We just need one serve for [Husband]’s lunch tomorrow.”

Waiter: “Surprise you? Haha, okay, I will.”

(He left with the plates and came back with a bag. We thanked him, paid, and headed home. The next day, my husband got the box out of the bag for his lunch and found underneath it a voucher for $30 at the restaurant. That was more than we’d even spent on our anniversary dinner! My husband was so excited he took a photo and send it to me, and then called me. On the voucher where it had a space for the name of the manager that approved it, it also said “Surprise!” I immediately called the restaurant and spoke to the manager on duty who passed along my thanks and compliments to the manager that had served us, as well as the owner. We went back a week later for a secondary anniversary dinner, which was just as fantastic, and we gave the waiter/manager that served us a box of chocolates since they weren’t allowed tips. It honestly does pay to be kind.)