My well-to-do aunt has ended up in the hospital. I’m the only family member who lives in the same city as her, so I step in to help her in every way I can. She has given me $500 to buy anything she needs, so I’m in a high-end clothing store holding a pair of men’s pyjamas pants — the only thing that will fit over the cast she has on her foot.

There is a man at the counter being served with a very complicated order. The woman helping him has to open a mountain of packages individually and scan the contents. Another man is standing in line and a woman comes off the floor to help him. He pays quickly and leaves, but so does the woman who helped him. I had taken his spot next in line, and it’s late at night so the man at the counter and I are the only two customers in the store, so it’s obvious that I’m ready to pay and go.

The floor woman floats back and forth from the floor to behind the counter, very careful to not make eye contact with me. I wait for far too long, and the sixth time she goes behind the counter and walks away again, I drop the pyjamas, making her look over at the sudden movement. When she looks over at me, I scoop up my planned purchase, lock eyes with her, and take two big steps to stand in front of the counter where she’d helped the other man.

With a rather discreet eye roll, she steps back behind the counter and takes the pants to scan them, but I walk away — past the first woman still working on the complicated order, who looks so apologetic, even though none of the events were her fault.

I go across the road to a lower-end store and buy a similar pair, pulling off the tagging and “losing” the receipt so my aunt doesn’t know it is a cheaper brand.

To be honest, I came from work, so I wasn’t dressed to the level that might be expected in that store, but I make some decent cash myself and have been known to shop there for my needs. I find it amusing to Pretty Woman them sometimes, standing in jeans and a band shirt and dropping $5,000 for some stuff I want, but I was stressed with my aunt’s injuries and wasn’t going to put up with their attitude this time.

There’s a popular burger chain near my house. They make a salad I like with chicken, guacamole, and bacon. However, I hate the spicy ranch dressing it comes with, so I ask for plain, instead. Seems simple, right?

Ha, no.

I’ve been getting this salad once or twice a month for half a year. I order the same thing every time, and never, not once, have I gotten just plain ranch. Sometimes I get both plain and spicy, sometimes neither. Sometimes I get something completely out of left field, like the day I got raspberry vinaigrette and Parmesan crisps. (How?)

I carry on because the chicken is always delicious. It was annoying at first, but now it’s just funny. It’s become such a running joke in my family that the last time we ordered there, my mom leaned over to peek in my bag and said, “Which one did you get this time?”

It was Caesar.

I work in EMS. I got off work after 2:00 am due to a late call, and I am headed back in to work for my 10:00 am shift after less than five hours of sleep.

I stop at the nearby superstore to get a few odds and ends and a farewell card for a coworker whose last day is coming up soon. While checking out at the self-checkout, I request $20 cash-back to use to purchase lunch later. 

Two and a half hours later, I am thinking of getting lunch and I reach for my wallet to make sure I have the $20 to use to pay… but it isn’t there. I left it in the self-checkout register. I realize my mistake, tell my coworkers, who good-naturedly laugh at me as I call myself an idiot, and promptly drive down the road to the store hoping there is any chance of getting my cash back. 

When I arrive at the store, receipt in hand, and tell the girl at the self-checkout my story, she apologizes and says she wasn’t there earlier but will ask someone who was. Her coworker immediately walks over to the main self-checkout register and reaches under it to pull out my exact $20 bill, with a duplicate receipt to prove it is mine. Once he sees that my receipt matches, he gives me the $20!

Then, I am on my way, feeling like the luckiest person in the world because no one else swiped my cash and the earlier self-checkout worker caught my blunder and saved it. 

I cannot thank these employees enough; they really restored my faith in humanity. I’ve already submitted an absolutely glowing review on their company survey site, but I felt they needed a little more recognition here.

My sister and I, along with our parents, have all worked at a particular fast food restaurant for a few years at some point in our lives. During a recent get-together, we traded stories of our time as employees.

Many people know the jingle of their signature burger: two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun. The bun is divided into three, with a piece in the middle of the burger. The way we were taught to make them was to build the same toppings on the bottom and middle buns — sauce, onions, lettuce, pickles, cheese, hamburger patty — move the middle bun on top of the bottom bun, move the top bun on top of the middle bun, and close the container. So, the burger was bottom bun, toppings, hamburger patty, middle bun, toppings, hamburger patty, and top bun.

My sister learned how to make the burger and started on her own after about a week. One of the managers was helping her on the grill when he stopped her after watching her make the burger. He asked who had taught her to make the burger in that particular way, and she asked why, confused. She had been putting the toppings and hamburger patty on the middle and top buns, placing the middle bun on the bottom bun, and flipping the top bun over while closing the container. So for about a week, all her customers were receiving burgers that were bun, bun, toppings, two patties, toppings, bun. Not one customer had complained, so without the manager observing her, she’s not sure how long she would have continued making sandwiches that way.

I am flying out to visit my parents several states away. My husband can’t come with me but sends a gift: a loaf of his homemade holiday bread. Since I don’t want to pack the bread in my luggage in case of loss — or crumbs — I tuck it into my carry-on bag. The security line is super-busy, and I get waved aside.

TSA Agent: “Ma’am, we’ll need to look through your bag.”

Me: “I understand.”

The agent opens the bag and lifts out the loaf, which is wrapped in foil and still faintly warm. He looks profoundly confused.

Me: “Oh, that’s holiday bread. My husband baked it.”

TSA Agent: *Taking a slow sniff* “It’s… bread.”

Me: “Yep. It’s got raisins and dried cherries in it.”

TSA Agent: *Smiling* “I’m terribly afraid I have to confiscate this.”

Me: “Confiscate some warm melted butter to put on top of it, too!”

He waved me through with a smile, and the bread got safely to my parents, who enjoyed it.