(I live in New York. It’s the evening of September 11, 2001. I am eleven years old, in middle school. The teachers let us watch the news, but my parents are working late, and the elementary school my eight-year-old brother goes to has not let the kids see. I am at a loss to explain things to him, and really worried, myself. The phone rings. I pounce, thinking it’s my mom, but it’s a very long, unfamiliar number.)

Me: “Hello?”

(I hear a voice I haven’t heard in ages, and realize why the number on the caller ID was so long. It’s my mom’s colleague, from Germany.)

Colleague: “[My Name]? You’re okay! You know about the terrorist attack, don’t you? I’m so sorry. Let me talk to your mom, all right?”

Me: “I’m fine… I don’t know where my mom is… Still at work I guess. Dad, too. I haven’t been able to reach them. And my brother doesn’t know. They haven’t told the little kids. I don’t know what’s happening.”

(I start to cry.)

Colleague: “But you and [Brother] are okay. Don’t let him turn on the TV or radio. I’m sure your mom and dad are fine, too. The phone lines are just so packed with people calling; it takes several times to get through. You’ll be okay. Hug [Dog], all right? Don’t cry… Shh, don’t cry… Give the phone to your brother, okay? I’ll explain.”

(I get my brother and turn on the speakerphone; the colleague explains in a way a kid can understand, without scaring my brother too much.)

Colleague: “Okay, I have to go to bed, but I’ll let your mother’s other colleagues know you’re all okay. You’re home alone?”

Me: *sniffling* “Yes.”

Colleague: “Don’t cry. I’ll pass the news on.”

(From then on, I ended up fielding calls from everyone my mom knows overseas; I was prepared to tell them that yes, we were all fine, but instead, people I hadn’t seen since I was a toddler just seemed to want to comfort us, since we were alone. To top it off, I realized that by the time the calls ended, it was nearly two am German time; they stayed up, just for us.)

Money was fairly tight when I graduated from college. I always had some food at home and never missed rent and bills, but other luxuries weren’t always a possibility. One particularly tight period I went to the local bookshop to see what kind of general-purpose traditional cookbooks they had for when I had some spare cash, since the charity shops didn’t have what I had in mind. Just as I got up the steps to the cooking section, a staff member asked if I wanted to join in a promotional event for their anniversary — so I ended up playing Pass The Parcel with several kids and their parents.

The game went as it usually does, until the music stopped when I was holding a fairly large parcel. I quickly passed it to the little girl beside me, who opened a really nice [Major Animation Company] storybook that I’d have loved at her age and she seemed delighted with.

The game kept going on, until the music stopped while I was holding a much smaller parcel with a lot less wiggle room to pass it on. I opened it to find a gift card! Someone up there liked me that day, since I got my cookbook and have made some big advancements in my cooking since — even sharing some of the recipes from it when people particularly liked them.

(The store I work in is a bulk foods grocery store. We have two types of clientele: general retail and wholesale — customers who order freight deliveries from our warehouse.The customer I’m dealing with fits into the latter category.)

Me: “Good morning, ma’am! Finding everything you need today?”

Customer: “No… I forgot to order a delivery this week and I’m almost out of a lot of supplies, so here I am.”

Me: “Let’s a take a look at your list and we’ll see what we can come up with, okay?”

(We spend the next half-hour or so going through her shopping list and, as is expected, most of the items she normally orders out of the warehouse are not carried by the store, so I help her find comparable items. The customer is becoming increasingly frazzled as we go on, but is maintaining her composure. Finally, we reach the end of the list.)

Me: “All right, ma’am, looks like you’re all set. Anything else I can do for you?”

Customer: *obviously holding back anger* “No, but I guess this will have to do, won’t it?!”

(I apologize profusely and again offer some assistance, as I’m expecting her to start screaming at any moment.)

Me: “Again, I’m terribly sorry, ma’am.”

Customer: *takes a breath* “Don’t be. It’s my own d*** fault. This is what I get for not putting in an order in time. I knew I had to do it this weekend, and I put it off. Oh well.”

Me: *slightly taken aback* “Oh, uh… Well, hopefully it all works out in the end for you. Have a great day!”

(I head back to the stock room to finish my morning tasks. My shock must be obvious because my coworker gives me a concerned look.)

Coworker: “[My Name], are you okay?”

Me: “No. I think I’m in The Twilight Zone.”

Coworker: “What just happened?”

(I relay the story to my coworker who looks just as shocked as I feel.)

Coworker: “There’s no way that happened.”

Me: “A customer actually owning up to their own mistakes. Hell, I wouldn’t believe if I hadn’t just seen it.”

(I have the greatest boss ever. He is over seventy years old and has owned and run part of a theme park for about forty years. I am driving the tourist train fully loaded with people up a very steep hill, and have to stop in the middle because someone has left a wheelbarrow right in my path. After the wheelbarrow is moved, I can’t get the train moving again, since it is full of people and going up a steep hill.)

Me: *calling my boss, slightly stressed out* “I can’t get the train up the hill!”

Boss: “It’s all right. Just ask everyone to get off and walk up the hill, and then drive the train up when it’s empty so they can get on again at the top of the hill. I’m sending [Coworker] to help you.”

(At the end of that day, he is comforting me because I thought I had really messed up when I got the train stuck:)

Boss: “A lot of people have gotten stuck on that uphill with the train, actually. I got stuck there in the seventies when I was driving Mao Zedong and the Chinese Communist Party. But I just asked them to get out and walk up, and they thought it was fun!”

(That turned out to be true!)

(I work at a restaurant where a special menu deal is being offered at the moment. One can order an appetizer and entree off of the special menu for $25. I am serving an elderly couple.)

Woman: “Hi, I’d like to order off the special menu. Can I get a minestrone with the chicken Marsala?”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, the minestrone isn’t part of the special deal. You can get the chicken Marsala with a different soup.”

Woman: “I really want the minestrone. Can’t you just give it to me?”

Me: “Not for the special deal, sorry.”

Woman: “FINE! I guess I’ll get the chicken Marsala with the split pea soup, and have the minestrone on the side.”

(She proceeds to throw her menu on the table and huff. Her husband gives me an apologetic look and places a simple order. I come back with their food later. The woman throws me dirty looks and eats grumpily, making loud noises with her knife and fork. She doesn’t touch her split pea soup. She exits the restaurant, shooting me a nasty look as her husband pays the bill.)

Husband: “Can we have this soup to go, please?”

Me: “No problem!”

(When I returned to the table I saw a note that said, “Sorry for my wife’s behavior! Please enjoy the soup!” He also left a nice tip!)