(Our charity shop has a café in it, so people are extra sociable — even non-regulars — and so am I. On this particular morning, the shop is empty except for me and an occasional customer.)

Me: “Good morning. I hope you’re having fun today! Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find, okay?”

Elderly Man: *looking shocked, eyes brimming with tears* “You have no idea how much I needed to hear a happy voice; the lady at the shop down the road was so rude and cruel to me just now!” *blows his nose on a handkerchief*

Me: “Oh, no! Do you need a hug?”

Elderly Man: *after a pause* “Yes.”

(I gave him one. He stayed for a cuppa, and he comes in to put a few quid in the donation bucket from time to time.)

(I’m the customer that is in the wrong here. I’m heading home from work and am heading towards a burger place to get something to eat. However, without realizing it, I turn into the wrong spot and pull into the drive-thru of a well-known chicken-only place, instead, and, despite them giving me their usual greeting, it doesn’t click.)

Me: “Yes, I’d like a [Hamburger] with extra che—“

Order Taker: “I’m sorry, we don’t have hamburgers here.”

Me: “Huh? Isn’t this [Burger Place]?”

Order Taker: “No, I’m sorry this is [Chicken Place].”

(I glance at the menu and the clearly-indicated speaker box that has the name of the chicken place on it.)

Me: “Oh, s***. I’m so sorry. I guess I turned the wrong way without realizing it.”

Order Taker: “It’s okay. Would you still like to place something to order?”

Me: “Yeah, but give me a few moments, I don’t eat here that often…”

(I place my order and pull up to the window.)

Cashier: *repeating my order* “That’ll be [price].”

(I pay up and wait for the order to be made.)

Me: “Yeah, I’m so sorry about that; I didn’t even realize that I had made the wrong turn and…”

Cashier: “Don’t worry; you were actually one of the nicest wrong turn people we’ve had in a while.”

Me: “I am?”

Cashier: “Yeah, you didn’t try to curse our ears out, for starters. Instead, it sounded like you were cursing at yourself there.”

Me: *chuckling* “Yeah, and sorry, again.”

Cashier: “Don’t worry. Your food should be out in a moment or two.”

(She closes the window and I see her grabbing something from just out of my view before taking another order. Once it’s ready, I notice there’s a pair of cookies in the bag.)

Me: “Oh, I didn’t order—“

Cashier: “It’s okay; have a blessed day.”

(She closed the window and I drove off. Every so often, I still go there, and for the first two or three visits after that, that cashier gave me a cookie or a drink. Makes me wonder how many times they’ve been cursed at by wrong turn people.)

I worked at an animal shelter a few years ago. An older woman came in looking for a small dog. She wanted to visit this small, white poodle that had just been put on the adoption floor that morning. I put them in a meet-and-greet room and placed the dog on her lap. A few minutes later I went in to check on her and she started telling me her story.

Her twenty-year-old daughter had been murdered three weeks ago. She told me how she had to spend $7,000 to bury her baby and that there were over twenty possible suspects.

As she cried telling me her story, this older poodle sat in her lap quietly and let her pet him. She asked if she could put in an application for him and what the adoption fee was. She started crying more when I told her it was $110, because she couldn’t afford that much right now.

I told her to hang on, to put the application in, and that I would work out the rest. I could tell that both the woman and the dog needed each other. I spoke with a coworker and told her I was going to pay the adoption fee. She decided to split the fee with me, instead. Her application was approved, and she somehow cried more when I told her the fee was taken care of. She thanked me over and over again as she carried that little dog out.

I cried when she left, happy to know I could help someone piece things together again.

(I am at a restaurant with my parents and sister. I have been 21 for a few months, but I look younger than I am. My family enjoys teasing one another about all sorts of ridiculous things.)

Server: *to me* “What can I get you to drink?”

Me: “Can I get a margarita, please?”

Server: *perfectly friendly* “Sure thing; I just need to see your ID real quick.”

(As soon as the server asks for my ID, my parents and sister begin teasing her and giving me a hard time: “She’s not old enough to drink!” “Her ID’s fake!” “You can’t sell alcohol to her!” My dad does it the most loudly and gleefully. The server takes it in stride and laughs politely. I get out my ID and show it to the server, and she writes down my drink order. She then turns to my dad:)

Server: “And for you, sir?”

Father: “A margarita, please.”

Server: *looking at him skeptically and not missing a beat* “I’m going to need to see some ID, sir.”

(She spent twice the time checking my dad’s ID as she had mine, while my entire family cracked up laughing. I think my mom left her a 50% tip for being such a good sport.)

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(My grandfather was in the merchant marines during the Second World War. Occasionally, we’re reminded of how interesting his life has been.)

Grandpa: “There was this one time we were in Curacao and this Nazi U-boat fired a torpedo at us.”

Me: “That’s amazing. You never told me that.”

Grandpa: “It’s not that exciting. I mean, they missed.”