(My uncle and aunt are going on a trip for a weekend, and get me to stay at their house and take care of my seven-year-old cousin. My cousin’s a pretty clever kid, but he gets bored easily and has a learning disorder that means he is below his expected reading level. This means he needs to practice reading every night.)

Me: “After dinner and before dessert, your dad says you have to do your reading. Which book do you want?”

Cousin: “No.”

Me: “No?”

Cousin: “None of the books. They’re boring and I don’t like them. I want to watch TV.”

Me: “All right, I’ll make you a deal. We can watch one TV show of my choosing first, and then you have to read.”

Cousin: “Okay!”

(I then put on the starting episode of a fun anime, complete with subtitles that I read out to him. By the time the first episode is finished, he’s really into it.)

Cousin: *with a deliberately over-cute look* “I really, really liked that show. What happens next? Can we watch the next episode?”

Me: “I don’t have any more of it here. Guess we’ll have to look at the comic book version, instead!”

(I get out the equivalent manga, and then hold it out to him.)

Me: “Since I did the voices for the show, you should do the voices for the comic.”

Cousin: “Okay.”

(By the end of the evening, he had read — with only a little help — the entire volume. I think he still believes he tricked me into not making him do his reading.)

(I’m working drive-thru alone on a relatively slow night.)

Me: “Thank you for choosing McDonald’s. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi! I’d like an order of McHotcakes with a McMilk, please.”

Me: *trying to conceal laughter* “Okay, one order of McHotcakes and a McMilk. That will be [Total] at your first McWindow!”

(It turned out to be a family from my old marching band who had recognized my voice over the headset! Thank you guys for making a dreary night shift a little bit better! )

(Some customers approach my counter who are obviously tourists from another part of the country; the name of their area is written on pretty much every article of clothing they are wearing.)

Me: “Hi, how are you all doing today?”

Customer: “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?!”

Me: “How are you doing today?”

(She gives me a disgusted look as though I’ve just done the most offensive thing imaginable, then rolls her eyes and speaks to me like I’m a toddler.)

Customer: “Okay, like, first of all, you need to understand something very important here. We’re the good people, who come from the good part of the country, where they have the good stores, that sell the good products, which—” *condescending chuckle* “—YOUR KIND wouldn’t know a thing about. So, don’t act like you can engage us on our level.”

Me: *cheerfully* “Ma’am, I’m afraid my workplace does not possess the industrial drilling equipment necessary to reach your level.”

(She doesn’t even flinch, but turns to the gentleman with her.)

Customer: “This is why we should have gone to [Big City in the state they apparently came from], instead.”

(They walk away.)

Supervisor: “You all hear that? Today, our buffalo wings are only the second zingiest thing here!”

(I’m a pre-med student shadowing a doctor to get some experience before I apply to medical school. We’re in the back office, where the doctors all convene at the end of the day to go over their patients and any potential problems or things that need coordinating. The doctor I’m shadowing is [Doctor #1].)

Doctor #1: “Here’s a problem, guys. This patient needs five rounds of chemotherapy, and now, four rounds in, his insurance decides they aren’t covering it, and he definitely can’t afford it on his own.”

Doctor #2: “That’s bulls***. Give me the case file. I’ll drop it with [Office Social Worker], and if she doesn’t have the insurance company begging to pay for it within three days, she’s not the magician I think she is.”

Doctor #3: “What if it takes longer, though? He’s scheduled to get his last round on Friday, four days from now.”

Doctor #1: “If it looks like it’ll take longer, we give him the chemo, anyway. If the insurance comes through, we’ll forward-date it to the time when he’s covered. If [Office Social Worker] just can’t make it happen, though, we give him the chemo, anyway, and request a round from [Free Charity Hospital] to be delivered here, since he’s getting all his stuff done here. It’ll take a few weeks for it to be delivered, but our next inventory isn’t for a month. That’ll give us time to get it into our system so our numbers match. One way or another, this guy is getting his chemo on Friday.”

(Later, as we’re getting ready to leave, I ask:)

Me: “Should I have been in the room for that? It’s not really fraud, but altering the dates on the paperwork is definitely not something they’ll go over in med school.”

Doctor #1: “That’s exactly why I wanted you in the room for that discussion. That’s a thing you need to learn early and well: how to get your patients the care they need, even when the paperwork or the insurance isn’t exactly right. None of what we were discussing was completely kosher, but it wasn’t completely illegal, either, and more importantly, it’s the right thing to do. Your job as a doctor is to take care of your patients, no matter what else gets in the way.”

(It was an important lesson, and one I learned well. I’m starting my residency now, and at least once a week, I find myself wondering, “What would [Doctor #1] do?” It’s yet to steer me wrong!)

(I work in a hospital. I am a cis woman, but since I am tall and broad-shouldered with short hair, I do occasionally get misgendered by young children, and adults who aren’t wearing their glasses. This doesn’t bother me, particularly because about half the time people are specifically talking about how “tall and handsome” I am, and I will happily take that compliment. When I tell people about these incidents, they usually either apologize or reassure me that I’m very pretty and feminine. However, this elderly gentleman blows my mind with his response.)

Elderly Patient: *to a group of ladies dozing in their wheelchairs by the television* “See? These ladies aren’t nearly as lucky as me; I get a beautiful young woman to stroll around with me, and there aren’t any handsome young men to take them walking!”

Me: *jokingly* “Well, if you’re not wearing your glasses, I can pass for a man!”

Elderly Patient: *completely serious* “Oh, are you trying to tell me something?”

Me: “Oh, no, I just meant with my hair—”

Elderly Patient: “No, no, I think you’re trying to say something. Which do you prefer?”

Me: *very conscious of being in a somewhat conservative, faith-based workplace, where I don’t know most of the staff yet* “Oh, I mean—”

Elderly Patient: “Because let me tell you, it doesn’t matter to me if you prefer one, or the other, or both. None of that matters as much as being a good person.”

Me: “I completely agree—”

Elderly Patient: “You know, I’m 97, and I know I talk too much. I can see I’ve embarrassed you. No, don’t say I haven’t, because I have. But you know what? We’re all individuals in this life. It doesn’t matter which one you want to be. As long as you’re trying to be a good person and not hurt anyone, none of the rest of that matters.”

(For the ten minutes that it took us to walk back to his room, I received something between a lecture and a pep talk about my intrinsic value as a human being, regardless of my supposed trans or non-binary identity. I have heard some awful stories about how people treat the LGBTQ+ community, but this gentleman gave me hope for humanity.)

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