It’s the late 1980s, and I’m about 12 years old, in my second year of (UK) high school. Our Home Ec class now involves actual cooking and baking, and each week we get to make something we can take home. Although I grew up to have no interest whatsoever in cooking, at this point, little me is quite proud and excited to be ‘providing for my family’.

One week we make a cake. It’s just a simple Victoria Sponge type thing, but mine comes out pretty good (if memory serves).

When I get it home, both my parents are at work, and my brother is still at school. There to greet me is my dog, a border collie called Toby. Our other dog, a German Shepherd, is at work with my Dad. I’m only home briefly before heading out again to some sort of after-school activity. I’m peckish, so I decide to have a slice of my cake before I go. I put the cake on a plate on the kitchen worktop and mentally divide it into eighths (two slices each for my family of four) and cut myself an eighth. It’s pretty good.

I go off to get changed and ready for wherever I’m going, and when I come back downstairs the cake is calling my name. I should leave my second slice for after dinner, but resisting cake has never really been in my skill set. I eat my second slice and write a note for my family which says, “I’ve had my share; please help yourselves to the rest”. I say goodbye to Toby and head out.

When I get home a few hours later, I’m greeted by my family, all talking over each other: ‘Where is it?’ ‘Where did you hide it?’ etc. I’m baffled. Eventually, they lead me to the plate where I’d left the cake, which now contains my note and one single crumb right in the middle. They’re convinced my note – telling them I’d had my share and to help themselves to the remainder – and the solitary, perfectly placed crumb were me being cheeky, and that I’d deviously hidden the rest of the cake to mess with them.

What they failed to spot was the dusting of caster sugar and big smile on the face of Toby the Border Collie!

A while back (early 2000s), I worked at a one-hour photo type of place with those digital Kodak kiosks, right around the time digital cameras were beginning to take off in a film world.

An older lady is struggling with the kiosk.

Customer: “I’m having some trouble here. Can you help me?”

Me: “Certainly! Can I have your memory card?” 

She manages to (with instruction) pull the flash card out, but she fumbles the handoff. The card hits the tile floor.

Customer: *Gasps, starting to cry.* “No! No, no, no!”

I pick up the card.

Me: “It’s not damaged.”

Customer: “But those were photos of my daughter’s wedding! They’re ruined!”

Me: “The card is probably fine.”

Customer: “But… but aren’t they all knocked out of focus now?”

The look of relief on her face when she saw the photos were fine was actually really nice to see, although every time she saw a picture of herself that she didn’t like, she blamed the memory card drop…

I am in line in a checkout lane in the grocery store when a very bubbly cashier opens a lane next to us. She calls over the customer ahead of me:

Cashier: “I can help you over here, Mr… Man?” *Her eyes go wide at the realization of her word slip.* “…Sir!”

Customer: *Arms on hips.* “Please, MISTER Man-Sir is my father!”

They both laughed, and I smiled, knowing that there are still some kind interactions in retail, rare as they may be.

Guest: “Tell your housekeeping people thanks for cleaning my room, but they didn’t take the tip!”

Me: “It’s our pleasure, sir! Housekeeping probably didn’t see a tip. Where did you leave it?”

Guest: “I left $5 on the bathroom counter under the soap dish.”

Me: “Uh, housekeeping is not going to take $5 off the counter in the bathroom.”

Guest: “Why not?”

Me: “Because 99.99% of the time that’s not a tip and that would be stealing.”

Guest: “Oh… Oh! I guess that makes sense! What should I do to tip the housekeeping staff?”

Me: “Tipping your housekeepers is appreciated, but not required. If you insist, then it would need to be on the bed, with a specific note saying it is for housekeeping.”

The guest understood and made sure they did this the next day ($10 that time, to make up for the day before!). Housekeeping isn’t used to getting tips, so it has to be made VERY clear if that’s what the money left behind is for (unless the guest is Japanese, then it’s $1 per person left on the bedside table closest to where they sleep; almost 100% of our Japanese guests do this, as I suspect it’s in a guidebook somewhere).

I’m a mom. We all have gas from various orifices at times, and I try to keep mine on the quieter side. I must be successful more than I think. Recently, a large burp snuck up on me, and I belched loudly. From the other room, I heard my ten-year-old…

Daughter: “Dad’s home!”

She was a little disappointed to have to wait longer to see him. And a little impressed that her mother could sound like that.