There is a charity worker at the entrance to our supermarket, collecting money and giving out information for the RNLI, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution. They save the lives of people in distress around British waters. Most of its lifeboat crews are unpaid volunteers, so while I am too poor to donate to them, they have my respect.

A customer and his teen son are at my till.

Customer: “A year ago, I would have given to the lifeboats, but now I see they’re the ones saving all the illegal immigrants crossing the channel so f*** ’em.”

I stop scanning his items and take a pause. I look around for someone else, but he’s talking to me. I have no idea why he thought I would not only want to hear such a vile opinion, but surely he’s not expecting me to agree with him, is he?

I continue scanning in silence.

Customer: “It’s a f****** shame what my taxes go to.”

Me: *Speaking before thinking.* “They’re a charity and they’re mostly volunteers. That’s why they’re asking for money. Your taxes don’t go to them.”

Customer: “Well… good. They still shouldn’t be saving all those illegals who get on the boats. They want to risk it, then leave them to the bloody sharks! They did that to themselves!”

Customer’s Son: “Dad, aren’t you always going on about how your grandad escaped to England on a boat just before World War 2?”

Customer: “Well, that’s different!”

He quickly changes the subject and looks at me as I scan the last of his items.

Customer: “What’s the damage, darlin’?”

The customer’s sudden desire to move along hasn’t gone unnoticed by his teenage son, who knows he’s on to something.

Customer’s Son: “How’s that different? Weren’t they escaping, too? They had German passports, didn’t they?”

Customer: “They were Jewish children! Now be quiet—”

Customer’s Son: “—lotta kids on those boats I see being rescued on the news.”

Customer: *To me.* “How much, love?”

Me: “£27.40.”

Customer’s Son: *Not giving up.* “So the RNLI should rescue the drowning kids, but leave the adults to drown? Should they be holding their passports out while they’re in the water so they can check they’re under eighteen?”

Customer: *Paying by card, desperately trying to get me on his side.* “Crazy what they’re teaching them in schools these days, eh?”

Me: “It’s crazy to teach someone to save a drowning person?”

Customer’s Son: *Still going on.* “Didn’t Mum have to go to hospital last year because she smoked so much she can’t breathe? Didn’t she do that to herself? Should the NHS refuse to help her then?”

Customer: *Grabbing the shopping and leaving as quickly as possible.* “You say nothing all day, and now you won’t shut up!”

The customer’s son kept bringing up valid points all the way to the exit, with the customer unable to find a counterargument. It was beautiful to behold.

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I’m volunteering at the gate for a youth charity baseball tournament. Entry is $10 per person, and the money goes to a nonprofit that furnishes homes for people transitioning from homelessness or escaping domestic abuse.

A car pulls up with two adults inside. I recognize them; they came through yesterday.

Woman: “Hi! It’s $10 a car, right?”

Me: “No, ma’am. It’s $10 per person.”

Woman: *Scoffing.* “Well, it was $10 a car yesterday.”

Me: “No, ma’am. I was here yesterday, and it was $10 per person.”

Woman: *While holding a $20 bill right in front of me.* “Well, I don’t have enough to cover that.”

Me: “…Ma’am, you have a $20 bill in your hand.”

Woman: *Scoffs again.* “I need that other ten for something else.”

For a CHARITY event. That she attended yesterday. And paid for.

I just stared at her, took the $20, handed her the wristbands, and waved them through. Some people will bend over backward to try and get one person in for free. You’ll never see someone squeeze a dollar tighter than when it’s for a good cause.

This happened during my freshman year of college, about twenty years ago.

My university had just opened a brand-new dining hall. To help fund it, they required all new students to purchase a 150-meal plan each semester. Coming from a lower-middle-class family, this was a big financial burden, but my parents scraped together the funds to make it happen.

Shortly into the first semester, I found out that unused meals didn’t roll over. Since I lived off campus and rarely ate on-site, I knew I wouldn’t use them all. By November, I realized I’d likely have 60 to 75 meals left, and I vented to anyone who would listen. It just felt like such a waste.

My cousin was a senior at the same school. He was the classic prankster type, the kind of guy who lives to poke the bear. One night while we were drinking, he tossed out a wild idea:

Cousin: “What if you brought a bunch of homeless people to use up your meals? How much would that p*** off those self-righteous b*****ds?”

We laughed, but the more I thought about it, the more the idea stuck. Over the weekend, we refined the plan.

On Monday, we visited the local Salvation Army just down the road. (Say what you will about the organization now, but in small-town USA in the early 2000s, it was the only game in town.)

I told the woman at the desk I wanted to donate my meal swipes to people in need. She was skeptical at first but eventually agreed. It would be a huge blessing during the holidays.

Together, we organized two days the following week, where around thirty people would meet me at noon. I told them I’d be wearing a distinctive hat so they could recognize me.

The first day arrives.

All kinds of folks showed up: unhoused individuals in ragged coats, parents with wide-eyed kids, even a quiet family who looked too embarrassed to accept charity. I made a point to greet everyone and make them feel welcome.

At noon, I led the group into the dining hall.

Me: *To the cashier.* “These people are with me. They’re my friends. I’d like to swipe them in.”

She looked unsure but let us through.

The reactions were… intense.

Some staff looked visibly irritated. Some students laughed. Some gave me the silent applause. A few snobby faculty members looked appalled. I didn’t care.

Eventually, a dining hall manager approached me.

Manager: “We know what you’re doing, and we don’t like it.”

Me: “These are my friends, and I paid for these meals. Am I breaking any rules?”

She was stumped.

Day two was more of the same, except this time the university president was there. She approached me and, while she asked that I not encourage other students to do the same (since the staff wasn’t equipped for the extra diners), she told me she was proud of my compassion.

The next semester, I did it again, this time using my meal plan even more sparingly to save up more swipes.

The memory that sticks with me most? 

A group of kids from one of the families, squealing with delight at the pizza bar and soft-serve ice cream machine. They giggled nonstop.

It’s still one of the proudest moments of my life. 

To this day, my friends and family still laugh about it over drinks and remember the scandalized stares from all the “snooty” onlookers.

I am a thirty-year-old woman, but am frequently mistaken for five years younger. I just got home from work and have sat down when the doorbell of my apartment (not the one downstairs for the building itself!) rings. Curious who this could be, I open the door to find two teen girls/young women (they can be no older than twenty) carrying a tablet and clipboard and wearing shirts from a big nature preservation foundation. Oh well, at least they’re not from a church.

Girl #1: “Hi! We are here on behalf of [Nature Foundation] to preserve the natural environment around [our location] for our children and future generations. Do you have kids?”

Me: “No, I don’t.”

Girl #2: “But surely you like kids and are invested in their future!”

Me: “Nope, I don’t. Try again.”

Girl #1: *Clearly thrown out of her lane for a moment, but very admirably goes right back to her bubbly personality.* “Well, maybe you are interested in preserving natural habitats for local wildlife, then?”

Me: “Sure, but let’s cut it short, okay? I’ve had … a day, and I’d like to get back to what I was doing. Are you asking for my signature, or are you looking for a donation? Because you’ll only get the first from me.”

Girl #1: “That’s great, thank you! We collect signatures for [long-winded project explanation].”

Girl #2: *Holds out her tablet with a signature form to me.* “If you’d like to support our cause, please fill out your name and address, and sign your name here. And down here is where you put how often you’d like to support us. You can pick monthly, annual, or one-time support and—”

Me: “Hold on. I JUST told you you’d ONLY get a signature from me. This is a donation form. We’re done here.”

Girl #1: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes. I appreciate what you do, but I don’t have the funds to donate. And I don’t appreciate the tactics you just used to get a donation out of me anyway after I said I would not donate.”

Girl #1: “But… really? You’re still smiling, too. You can’t really want to send us away.”

Me: “I’m smiling because I think you’re nice and you’ve been polite, if a bit tactless, so far. Unfortunately, you’re now trying my patience after I’ve declined your spiel more than once. Have a nice day, and I wish you the best of luck. You’ll also want to skip my next-door neighbours, they’re Ukrainian refugees who will likely not understand you, and I’m quite sure their money is currently going to rebuilding their lives from the ground up.”

They did not skip my next-door neighbours’ apartment. I hope they felt at least a little remorse for asking for money from a struggling refugee family.

I work in a second-hand store. Basically, everything in the store is donated to be sold to raise money to help those in need. We’ll take most things, but sometimes we have to turn things away, like in this phone call:

Me: “Hello, [Company name and location], this is [My Name].”

Caller: “Hi. I wanted to know if I could drop something off as a donation?”

Me: “Sure thing. What have you got?”

Caller: “I’ve got some colostomy bags.”

Me: “…what?”

Caller: “I promise they’re new and unused.”

Me: “I… don’t think we can take those.”

Caller: “I mean, it says you can on your website.”

Me: “Does it? I don’t think it would. And in any case, who’s coming to [Company] to buy those?”

Caller: “…I mean, I suppose that’s true.”

Me: “Maybe try a hospital? I’m sure they can use them.”

Further investigation found that the caller was TECHNICALLY right: the website says, “new and unused items”. Didn’t specify colostomy bags, though, that was more of an abuse of the wording on her part.