I work at a popular second-hand retail chain. About once a week a lady comes in near closing and asks to try on lots of clothing, and to look into the jewelry case. She is extremely picky and takes as long as possible at the register, and all the while being very rude to the cashiers and to me at the fitting rooms.

I take a piece of cardboard, draw a big smiley face on it, and smack it against my forehead to greet the few customers we have when they walk by. The rude woman in question does her best to ignore me, until she finally starts the checkout process with my manager.

Running up to customer service, I shout, “[Manager]!” and smack the smiley face against my forehead. My manager has to nearly stop the transaction from trying not to laugh.

The rude woman remains silent but cracks a smile.

Every time she’s been in the store since, she has been quicker and not raised her voice once. She also says, “There’s my little friend!” to greet me. Now, she uses pleasant conversation to slow down the transactions. Hey! It’s a good improvement.

(I’m a woman in my early 20s, and I decide to try traveling alone for the first time after finding a cheap flight to Massachusetts. I’ve always wanted to see Cape Cod, so my plan is to fly into Boston and then take a bus out to Provincetown. Right off the bat, the trip does not go well. Among other things, a woman on the plane tries to steal my clearly labelled backpack and has to be stopped by the flight attendant, and a man literally pushes me into the street to be the first one onto the bus. By the time I finally arrive in Provincetown, I’m exhausted and miserable and wondering if I made a mistake, but I came all this way, so I decide to at least get a drink before collapsing. While at the bar, I start chatting with a guy there with a bunch of his friends, and he mentions he works for a local whale-watching company.)

Guy: “If you’re only in town for a few days, you should definitely go. It’s probably the coolest thing to do in town.”

Me: “Yeah, it looked neat, but I’m not sure; the tickets were kind of pricey.”

Guy: “Oh, that’s no good! You can’t miss out on it just because of that! Go down to the pier tomorrow and tell them [Guy] sent you, and they’ll hook you up.”

(I thank him, and the conversation soon drifts in another direction. I’m not sure how serious the offer was, but I figure why not, so the next morning I head down to the pier and the ticket booth.)

Ticket Seller: “Hi, can I help you?”

Me: “Yeah, I’d like to get a ticket to the next whale-watching trip, please. [Guy] sent me down here; I was talking to him last night and he said it was absolutely not to be missed.”

Ticket Seller: “Oh, you’re a friend of [Guy]’s?”

Me: “Kind of? I met him in a bar last night.”

Ticket Seller: “Totally counts! He wouldn’t have sent you here if he didn’t like you. Which bar was it?”

(I tell him, and immediately get the impression that I’ve given him the best gossip of the month.)

Ticket Seller: “Oooh, [Guy] was at [Bar]? He hasn’t been back there since the breakup! Wait ‘til tell [Friend]!”

(He hands me a ticket and pulls out his cell phone.)

Me: “Wait, how much do I owe you?”

Ticket Seller: “On the house, m’dear. You’re a friend of [Guy]’s, and you just brought me the best gossip I’ve heard all day; that’s well worth a tour. Just make sure to tip the crew.”

(The tour was completely amazing, and I did indeed make sure to tip the crew well. It was like the conversation in the bar flipped a switch, and for the rest of the trip, everyone around me was so nice, I started to wonder if it was a town-wide prank or if I’d accidentally landed in a Disney movie or something. The locals cheerfully directed me to the best beaches and restaurants, usually with the offer of a ride from a friend who was heading that way. Complete strangers checked to make sure I was enjoying myself, pulled me out onto the dance floor, invited me to join their group heading to a club or karaoke, or insisted on walking me back to my hotel if I turned them down. If I stopped at a bakery or chocolate shop, half the time, there was an extra cookie or chocolate thrown in with whatever I’d ordered. And when I was disappointed that I’d waited too long to go for a walk along the point and night was falling, a quite lovely elderly couple lent me a flashlight and invited me to dinner when I came to return it. Anytime I asked, or expressed amazement at just how genuinely nice everyone was, the answer was always the same: “Well, it’s almost the end of tourist season, we might as well. And besides, we like people here!” Despite my initial misgivings, it was an amazing trip, made so by a bunch of seriously amazing people, and I can’t wait to go back!)

(I’ve had the same type of purse since high school: a canvas shoulder bag completely covered in about forty or fifty picture buttons. I switch them out every six months or so. I like them because they’re bright and colorful and they start conversations. At least once a week someone on the train will comment on a button featuring a book or a movie they recognize, and I’ve even had complete strangers give me buttons to add to my collection. Two encounters really stand out, though. The first is on a bus. Sitting across the aisle from me is a mom with two toddlers who will not settle down, no matter what she pulls out to distract them. One of them finally manages to squirm away, hops off the seat, and then stops dead when she sees my bag covered in shiny, colorful buttons.)

Toddler: “Your bag’s pretty! What’s that one?”

Me: “Oh, that one is a picture of the pyramids, because someday I want to go to Egypt.”

Toddler: “Cool! What’s that one?”

Me: “That one’s a picture of a story I like, about a girl who gets turned into an owl.”

(After a minute, her brother wanders over to join her looking at my bag, and they spend the next twenty minutes calmly asking me about each and every button on my bag. Almost as soon as they finish with the last button, their mom announces they are getting off at the next stop, and the two kids run back to their mom. As they are getting off, she mouths a fervent, “Thank you!” at me. I have to smile. The second encounter takes place at a train station at nearly 1:00 am, when I am heading back from a friend’s. I’m a very short woman, and I am the only one on the platform, so I am a little nervous when a man comes onto the platform and heads right to me, not least because he has facial tattoos tying him to a particularly brutal and violent local gang. I am trying to discreetly reach for my pepper spray when…)

Man: “Dude, your purse is awesome. I saw the buttons from clear across the station. Where are they from?”

Me: “Oh! They’re, uh, they’re from all over. Some I found, some I bought, and some I made.”

Man: “This one, is this from Amsterdam?”

Me: “No, Venice. I’ve never been, but one of my friends brought it back for me.”

Man: “Makes sense. I figured it had to be either Venice or Amsterdam, with the canals. Either way, it’s pretty cool. I love the idea of a city built on the water.”

(We chat a few more minutes, and then he asks…)

Man: “By the way, you looked kind of nervous when I walked up. Was it the tattoos?”

Me: “I, uh… Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Man: “I figured it was. Joining that gang was the worst mistake I ever made. I managed to quit and I’ve been working at [Local Factory] for the last eight months. First, I’m saving up to get the tats lasered off, then I’m saving up to visit Europe. I want to see Delft and Amsterdam and Venice… and if I like it, then I’m saving up to move there!”

Me: “In that case, here. Until you can get there yourself!”

(He grinned, and pinned the Venice button to his jacket. Unfortunately, my train pulled up, so we didn’t get to talk anymore, but it was a conversation that stuck with me. I’m usually pretty shy, and I’ve had a couple of friends comment that it’s odd that I carry a purse that attracts so much attention, but I like seeing people smile when they recognize something on one of my buttons.)

(It is a busy Friday night, right after I’ve turned 20. My family and I have just moved to a small gambling town for job prospects about a month prior. A pair of brothers own about half the town, including the casino I am hired onto about a week after moving in. Due to my ability to deal with rude and borderline belligerent, drunk people and my sunshine personality, I am assigned to cashiering at one of the buffets on the nights and weekends. In my first several days of training, it is stressed to me that I must ask for ID from every customer, every time, if they make a credit or player’s card purchase, even if I know them.)

Me: “Okay, sir, I have [number] adults and [number] children. Your total is [amount], please.”

Guest: “Sure, no problem.” *hands me credit card*

Me: “Thank you, sir. Now I just need to check your ID real quick, please, and we’ll have you on your way.”

Guest: “Seriously?”

Me: “Yes, sir. This is as much for your protection as the casino’s.”

Guest: *looks at me incredulously* “Do you have any idea who I am?”

Me: *smiles wide, and calls on all the high school theater I can muster* “No, sir.” *leans in and drops to a conspiratorial tone* “Do you know who I am?”

Guest: *stops, confused* “Well, no.”

Me: *grins again, straightens up* “Great! So, we’re even! ID, please.”

(The guest continues to look at me like I’ve grown a second head while I compare his name and ID… and realize his name is the same as one of the brothers who owns my casino.)

Me: “Oh, dear sweet baby Jesus.”

(The owner started howling with laughter, and refused to accept my apologies, stating that while I “probably should know who my bosses are” he was glad to know that his assets were so hilariously guarded by smart-aleck cashiers.)

(I am a student at an adult learning centre, which is basically high school for adults. Unlike traditional high school, this school’s attendance policy is very strict, and one of my teachers is explaining this to the class.)

Teacher: “Here at [School], you are only allowed up to three absences without notice. If you miss more than three days without prior notice, you will be automatically withdrawn from my class. If you know you will be missing a class on a test day, you need to arrange an alternate test day with me.”

Me: “What if there are extenuating circumstances where I have to miss more than three days, including test dates, but I’m unable to give you any prior notice?”

Teacher: “In what circumstance could that ever be possible?”

Me: “Well, what if I got kidnapped? Even if my abductor gives me a phone call, I don’t think I would use it on school.”

Teacher: “Oh, that won’t be a problem. I’ll probably see you on the news, and I will accept that as notice.”

(It was foolish of me to challenge her wit. Many teachers handle bratty kids just fine, so a smart-mouthed adult is probably nothing in comparison.)