I have horribly irregular periods and a family history of uterine fibroids. While I tried talking to my parents about these issues in high school, I was ignored, even though I often had to be picked up from school due to the sheer pain of my cramps. When I talked to my general practitioner, she didn’t think there was anything to worry about. I didn’t manage to get a gynecologist appointment until I was in college after going nearly four months without a period.

Before my appointment, I prepared for a fight. I dressed nicely. I compiled over three years’ worth of data from my period tracking app to prove that my cycles were far longer than normal and were edging into “please see a doctor” territory. I printed out a color-coded chart and a line graph to prove that my cycles were getting longer and longer. Basically, I was expecting to have to fight to be taken seriously since I was young, looked even younger, and was otherwise quite healthy.

When I got to the appointment and met the gynecologist, we ran through the basic first-time patient questions. I pulled out my line graph and the table chart, explained how I’d formatted them, and silently prayed that she would take me seriously. She looked quite shocked, so I was prepared for the worst.

Doctor: “Do you mind if I take these to add to your records?”

Me: “No problem. They’re just printouts.”

Doctor: “Thank you so much! I wish all our patients did this.”

She paused my appointment to run my charts down to records, and they transferred all of the information they could use from my charts to my patient file. The OB heard me out on all my concerns, and I ended up getting a low dose of birth control and a “just in case” test for another condition for which I was at a higher genetic risk. My relief was immeasurable.

I drive passenger trains for a living. This story took place on the last train of the day before Christmas Eve, which in Sweden is a way bigger deal than Christmas Day. For many families, Christmas celebrations start at three pm sharp on Christmas Eve.

There had been a lot of snow during the last few days, meaning that it was hard to keep up with cleaning the tracks from snow and defrosting the ice and snow build-up on the trains. The type of train I was driving had the issue that too much snow and ice could make the brakes freeze stuck to the wheels, causing friction, which in the worst-case scenario leads to derailing.

Obviously, there are lots of precautions to prevent that, and just one such precaution had detected that my train might have that problem. I carefully came to a stop at the next station and went out to check after informing the passengers of the situation.

The snow beside the track was almost at hip-depth, so there was plenty of plodding through the snow to check the brakes. After performing the standard winter test of tossing snow on the wheels, I could immediately tell by the hissing and steam that the brakes were indeed stuck. I then plodded back to the driver’s compartment and informed everyone that we’d be stuck for a bit while I tried to unstick the brakes.

After turning off the affected brakes, I plodded back with my iron bar to try to get rid of all the ice that had made them stuck. After about fifteen minutes of back-breaking work, I realised it was very unlikely to work; there was just way too much ice. I informed my company who tried to find buses; there were no trains available. A few were already standing still because of the same reason. I kept at it for quite a while longer just in case I could fix it; it would be so much more convenient for everyone involved. But in the end, I gave up. During this time, another decimeter (about four inches) of snow had fallen, and the entire time I’d been able to see naturally upset passengers inside the train, but being too tired to plod on, I called for my colleague to open the door I was closest to.

Onto the train I scrambled. My pants were frozen nearly solid from snow melting from my body heat and then refreezing. I stiffly walked to the driver’s compartment while dropping clumps of snow I hadn’t managed to get off my pants, all the while dreading the expected and justified complaints. But instead, they just took one look at me and most people looked so much less irritated. Some even smiled at me. Whether they did that because of how comically I resembled a snowman or because they were grateful for me trying my best, I don’t know. I’m not certain which I prefer. I really did look ridiculous.

But we did happily get buses quite soon considering the time of day and the date. My colleague and the passengers continued to their destination while I got the fun task of driving the train back at fifteen km/h (about nine mph) with constant plodding to check the wheels and brakes.

When I got home, I had to switch bathwater twice before I thawed.

I’m from the United States, but I minored in Spanish in college, so when my family took a Christmas vacation to Cabo San Lucas, I was a translator for them, and soon almost all of the staff knew me as the white girl who spoke Spanish. I had a lot of fun and made a few friends, especially as the staff would sometimes come to me for translations if they didn’t know! 

On Christmas Day, we were in the café eating breakfast when a staff member ran up to me frantically asking to translate for another guest. She was asking how many staff workers were in the kitchen. When I translated and got the number, the guest pulled wrapped Christmas presents out of her bag! Turns out she always brought small presents to the staff at resorts to thank them for working the holiday! 

It was a really uplifting moment and I was so glad to be a part of it!

I work in a card store. A customer approaches me after viewing the cards for a few minutes.

Customer: “I have a friend who just transitioned. Do you have a card to celebrate that?”

Me: “We have a bunch of congratulations cards, but I don’t think we have anything for that specific of an occasion.”

Customer: “Yeah, I looked, and most of them were congratulations for having a baby or getting a new job.”

Me: “Then I don’t think we do, sorry. Thanks for bringing it to my attention, though. This is the kind of thing we need to make more of!”

The customer nods and goes back to browsing. A little while later, he comes back up to the counter with a wry smile. He hands me a couple of towels with embroidered “his” and “hers” labels.

Customer: “I’m going to just give him these and say they’re a ‘before and after’!”

I’m a teenager going through some college loan websites with my parents. They’re doing most of the work, but I’m present to note down the details I’ll need, provide some of the necessary information, and get a feel for the process.

My mother is working on the computer, and my father and I are standing behind her. She has several tabs open when she misclicks and closes the whole browser window.

Mom: “Agh! No, no, no, no, no!”

Dad: “Crap! Do you remember everything we had open?”

Me: “Try Control, Shift, T!”

Dad: “What the heck will that do?”

Me: “It reopens your last closed tab! You might have to hit it a couple of times to get everything back, but it should work!”

My mom quickly inputs the command, and all of our tabs reopen, good as new. We all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Dad: “What was that command again?”

Me: “Control, Shift, T.”

Dad: “I’ll have to remember that.”

I was quite pleased to be able to teach my dad, who has worked in IT for over ten years, something new about computers!