When my parents were still married, they’d attend Mary Kay’s annual seminar, joining thousands of people who descended on Dallas every July to recognize outstanding salespeople and for further enrichment in leadership and success. The flights down were relatively peaceful, but one of their first times coming back, they ran into a problem. Since this happened in the late eighties, my parents can no longer remember the exact cause, but according to the airline…

Representative: “It’s all you Mary Kay people! Maybe if you weren’t so busy playing with each other’s makeup and admiring each other’s pink cars, the flight out of Dallas wouldn’t have been so late!”

Mom: “What happened with the flight was beyond our control; the seminar had nothing to do with it. Now, could you please tell me if there’s a flight back to Lansing yet tonight, or do we have to make other plans?”

The representative barely pretended to check her computer.

Representative: “You’re out of luck. The next flight to Lansing leaves at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. And I’m out of hotel vouchers and out of patience because it’s time for my break.”

And she walked away without waiting for my parents’ decision.

Sadly, that woman was so focused on being spiteful to whoever she’d pegged as being associated with Mary Kay that she didn’t notice who else she was hurting — namely the two elderly ladies standing behind my parents. After listening to my parents debate whether it was better to rent a car or to try to find a motel room and hope that there would be no more problems, they plucked up the courage to say:

Lady #1: “Excuse us. We wouldn’t usually ask a favor of complete strangers, but…”

Lady #2: “Our brother is dying at [Hospital], and we’re worried that if we wait for [Airline] to fly us back tomorrow morning, it might be too late.”

Lady #1: “Could we possibly ride back to Lansing with you? It would mean a lot, and we’d be willing to give you gas money.”

Lady #2: “You wouldn’t even have to take us to [Hospital]. We have a room at [Motel on the west side].”

My parents didn’t even have to discuss it. Helping sisters in need was far more appealing than giving the airline representative the satisfaction of watching them trying to get comfortable on the floor overnight.

It was late when the four of them got back into town, but my parents were rewarded with a call the next afternoon confirming that the ladies had arrived in time to say goodbye.

And [Airline]’s response to all this? They answered my mother’s scathing letter with a $100 ticket voucher.

Bold of them to assume my parents would ever want to fly with them again, don’t you think?

I sell tickets at a bus station in Detroit, Michigan. A couple comes up to my counter, looking all excited.

Customer #1: “Am I reading this correctly that you sell bus tickets to London?”

Me: “That’s correct, sir, London, Ontario. It leaves in thirty minutes.”

Customer #1: “Two for that bus, please!”

I start processing the tickets as they speak excitedly between themselves.

Customer #2: “It’s a good thing we had our passports on us today!”

This is normal, as they’re crossing the border into Canada.

Customer #2: “I can’t believe we’re finally getting to see Buckingham Palace!”

I stopped processing the tickets. Then, I sighed and started the explanation that would ruin their day.

I was a grad student doing homework in the library. It’s not uncommon for students to ask other nearby students to keep an eye on their things if they have to briefly step away for things like using the restroom or going to fetch a book. 

As I was working, I noticed a fellow student waving to get my attention, and it sounded like she asked me to watch her laptop for four or five minutes, but I had my headphones in so I didn’t quite catch it.

I removed my headphones.

Me: “Sorry! What was that?”

Student: “I said, can you watch my stuff for forty-five minutes?”

Me: “Did you say forty-five?”

Student: “Yes.”

Me: “No, I’m sorry.”

She sighed in frustration, packed her things, and left. If it had been for a few minutes, I would have agreed, but I didn’t know how much longer I’d be there working, and I didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s computer and bags for such a long time. I left twenty or thirty minutes later and she had not returned.

My aunt (we’ll call her Jane) was dating a man (we’ll call him John) who was twenty-two years older than she was, and he eventually became her second husband. He pulled this gag on her at a store’s checkout.

As they approached the cashier’s station, John hung back, so it wasn’t obvious that they were together. Jane didn’t think anything of it and started placing her items on the belt. Just as she finished, John walked up and put a pack of gum on the belt. The cashier looked at my aunt, who said, “Go ahead.”

The cashier finished ringing her out and announced the total.

John: “I’ll get this.”

Jane: “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

John: “I insist; it’s the least I can do.”

Jane: “Well, okay.”

He hands the cashier money and gets his change, and then…

John: “Now that I’ve paid for your purchase, will you tell me your name?”

Jane: “JOHN!”

This is the story of how my dad failed driver’s education because of his siblings.

My dad’s oldest sister was the first member of his family to take driver’s education in high school. She needed glasses but wasn’t aware that she needed them at the time. Due to her nearsightedness, she managed to drive the driver’s ed vehicle, with the screaming instructor and three other kids inside, off of a pier and into a lake.

After that, the school bought a car with a passenger brake system for the instructor to use.

My dad’s youngest sister went next. During her class, the instructor (the same man) walked in front of the car while his sister was getting out. She accidentally failed to turn off the car and stepped out. Driverless, with power still being applied to the wheels, the car slammed the teacher against the wall of the school, trapping him.

It took nearly an hour to get him free. The school instituted new procedures so that, should something like this happen in the future, it would get fixed faster.

Then, it was my dad’s turn. Same driver’s ed instructor. The instructor was calling roll. When he reached my dad’s name, he visibly blanched. He never let my dad actually drive, and at the end of the class, he marked my dad as failing.

Dad’s dad was on the school board. He learned that my dad had failed driver’s ed and demanded to know why; no accidents had been reported from my dad. 

Long story short, the next year, the school had a new driver’s ed instructor. The old one won some sort of settlement or compensation for psychological harm during his time at work, and the school paid for my dad to retake private driver’s education with an off-site facility.

My dad’s little brother went on to be the first in the family to pass driver’s education on the first try, and he eventually became an automotive engineer.