(My mom does a lot of charity work, and I occasionally get to help her with lighter deliveries of clothing and other goods. One place my mom tries to support is a local shelter aimed at young women and teen girls. I’m about 16 or 17 when this takes place, and since it’s the weekend — with the accompanying chores — I’m not dressed all that fancy.)

Mom: “Hey, [My Name]. You want to help me deliver to [Women’s Shelter] today?”

Me: “Sure, I’m ready if you are!”

Mom: “They’re not expecting me today, but I don’t think they’ll mind as we’ll still be within their usual donation hours.”

(We arrive at the apartment complex with boxes of donated clothing, magazines, etc. Due to the nature of some of the women’s “care,” the location isn’t well-known, and only a few non-volunteers are aware of it. Before we can start unloading, Mom and I get out of the car to explain to the staff on-duty what’s all included. A middle-aged woman, no doubt a coordinator of volunteers, steps outside and nearly shrieks when she sees me.)

Coordinator: “OH!” *gasps and starts to grow frantic, glancing at my oversized sweatshirt and old sneakers* “They didn’t tell me we were getting a new girl in today! Oh, honey, we’ll get a room set up for you right away, but we’ll need a bit of time!”

(The second she catches on, my mom starts laughing too hard to explain. Meanwhile, I’m left standing awkwardly on the driveway, wondering what I can possibly say.)

Mom: “S-she’s my daughter, [Coordinator]!”

Coordinator: “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

(My mom was now nearly on the ground in hysterics, so I calmly introduced myself before helping unload the car. The coordinator apologized again, and I dismissed her concerns while secretly resolving to buy some new sneakers.)

(I’m an EMT. My partner and I are called to a homeless shelter/halfway house for a “sick call.” This means a non-life-threatening issue. We arrive and unload the stretcher. There’s about ten stairs and a small elevator right inside the door. I start to open the door of the elevator when I’m greeted by staff.)

Staff: “You’re going to the second floor. Oh, that elevator doesn’t work.”

Me: “Okay. Do you have another one?”

Staff: “Sure, it’s up here around the corner.”

Me: “Great. How can I access it?”

Staff: “Come on up the stairs and go to the end of the hall.”

Me: “That’s not going to work. Do you have another access point? A ramp, maybe?”

Staff: “We have an elevator around the corner here.”

Me: “That’s great, but if this elevator doesn’t work, how am I going to get my stretcher to the second floor?”

Staff: *exasperated* “There’s an elevator right over here! Right around the corner.”

Me: “I understand that. But how would you like me to get my stretcher up these stairs to get to that elevator?”

Staff: *blank stare*

Me: *to my partner* “Let’s just leave it here, see the patient, and figure it out from there.”

(When we got to the other elevator it was so small our stretcher wouldn’t have fit, anyway, even if we folded the back.)

I worked at a small charity running holidays for children. As we ran some holidays in France, we had a French bank account so that French parents could pay in euros. One day the elderly and rather confused boss stormed in to complain that he had been looking at the French bank statement and was horrified to see that a German family had paid into it.

“It’s only for French euros, not German euros,” he said.

(It is right after Hurricane Harvey. I work at a pet store and we receive word that a rescue group that we work closely with will be driving down to Texas to help rescue abandoned and stranded animals. They ask us to spread the word that they are looking for any and all donations to bring down with them. They have rented a large U-Haul to take down all the donated supplies they can get to help out the animals and families. We start asking every customer for donations, and we are surprised and touched by the amount of donations we receive. I am checking out one of our regulars who is known to be incredibly generous.)

Me: “All right Mr. [Regular], your total today is going to be [total]. Would you like to make any donations today?”

Regular: “What are you collecting donations for?”

Me: “[Rescue Group] is driving down to Texas on Friday and they are asking for donations. Anything that you could donate would be put to good use.”

Regular: “So, like, just food, or would they take other stuff?”

Me: “Food, treats, bowls, beds, crates, leashes, collars, harnesses — all the good stuff! They need as much as they can get, since they run entirely on donations.”

Regular: *thinking* “Hmm… Here. Cancel my transaction for right now, and check these others out; I am going to go grab some things to donate!”

Me: “Of course! Thank you so much!”

(The regular walks off, and I expect to see him back in a few minutes. He comes back about 15 minutes later with a cart FILLED with an assortment of things: kibble, canned food, treats, two brand new expensive crates, shampoos, brushes, bowls, and a multitude of different leashes, collars, and harnesses of varying sizes. I am astounded, and honestly in awe.)

Regular: “Ring it up! All of it! You’ve got to be prepared, you know!”

Me: “Are… Are you sure? This is going to be hundreds of dollars!”

Regular: “My dog was rescued after a tornado ripped through my town. I wouldn’t be around today if it weren’t for rescue groups that do what they do. If it takes a couple hundred dollars to show my support, then so be it!”

Me: “Oh, my God. They are going to be thrilled! Thank you so much!”

(I ring up everything and get permission from my manager to give him a discount. He ends up spending roughly $400 on all the donations. The regular pays and leaves with his dog, leaving all the donations behind for the rescue group. Later that night, one of the volunteers for the rescue comes by to pick up any donations. My manager tells me to bring them over to surprise her.)

Me: “And this is from [Regular]!”

Volunteer: “I… Oh… ALL OF THIS!?”

Me: “Yep! He bought it all today. It is all paid for and ready to go to Texas!”

Volunteer: *bursting into tears* “This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for us! Oh, my God, this is more than we could ever ask for. I can’t believe this!” *she spots the expensive crates* “And crates?!”

Me: *beaming* “Brand new!”

Volunteer: “This is amazing! I don’t even know what to say!”

(We were all on the verge of tears. The rescue group leaves that Friday and, with all the donations, they are able to save dozens of animals. They bring a lot of them back with them, while handing some off to other rescue groups they work with. When they come back, a volunteer comes over to me with an envelope.)

Volunteer: “When [Regular] comes in next, can you give this to him, please?”

Me: “He’ll actually be in later to pick up his dog. I will be sure to give it to him!”

(Later, when [Regular] came in, I handed him the envelope. He opened it. Inside, every volunteer had signed it and written a message of thanks. There were so many people they had to write on the back, as well! [Regular] was touched, and he told me later that he still has the card sitting on his mantel.)

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(I have been employed by a small charity for years. I have seen many people come and go. One of the worst is a young woman. She is lazy and obviously does not care about doing a good job. I complain to the boss about something she did — or rather, something she didn’t do! — and he sighs and says, “She’s got to go,” but of course nothing is done. One day, a few months in, she goes off sick. She never comes back. She claims FIVE months sick pay and then resigns. A couple of years later, I am diagnosed with cancer. I go to the boss:)

Boss: “I am so sorry to hear that.”

Me: “Thanks. I will work as long as I can, but I have heard that chemo makes you feel worse and worse as you go on, so I will probably have to go completely in about a month.”

(This turns out to be absolutely true.)

Boss: “Okay, take all the time you need.”

Me: “Thanks. How much sick pay will I be entitled to?”

(I have worked there for 16 years by this point.)

Boss: “Two weeks.”

Me: “Two weeks? [Coworker] claimed for five months and only worked here for less than a year.”

Boss: “[Coworker] claiming for five months is why we decided to reduce it to two weeks, so no one can do that to us again.”

(Not only did I only receive two weeks sick pay, I also could not claim any statutory sick pay. I took a hit to my income at the worst time of my life. I only managed to survive because I was so ill I hardly left the house for three months, during that entire cold dark winter, not sick enough to be eligible for any charitable help. AFTER I came back, they decided to change the policy because of how I had suffered, but no back pay was forthcoming! Thanks, [Coworker]! You made a bad situation SO much worse.)