My dad was travelling from the Netherlands to France, by public transportation. He was going to join my mother there, who went a few weeks earlier. His trip should’ve gone like this: Tram, Train 1, Train 2 (Thalys – a French-Belgian high-speed train operator), Metros/Subway, Train 3 (TGV), Train 4 (local train), walking a bit, Ferry,  and then hello, Mom! He had done this trip for several years and this was most likely the last time he would have to make this trip.

This is how his trip went:

The tram had some scheduled maintenance, which they mentioned only a week before. They arranged a bus, but there would be delays. Dad decided to take a bus earlier than planned, just in case. He arrived in time for Train 1.

Train 1 had no delays and my dad got on the Thalys, arriving on time. The Metro was going fine, as well. Then, he got aboard his TGV (Train 2).

The TGV decided to leave one hour later than planned. No one bothered to give the passengers information, so it is unclear why. Dad realised it was going to be tight with the last ferry. On-board personnel assured him he would make it.

The next train, the local one, however, suddenly decided to have 30 minutes of delay, as well! The train personnel and an English lady — who spoke fluent French — realised it would be impossible to get my dad on that last ferry. Dad already resigned to the idea having to look for a local hotel, in a country where he didn’t speak much of the language. Maybe these people could help him find a hotel?

The train personnel called their head office, while the English lady translated. No, there would be no compensation possible, because he was going to arrive at the station and it was not their problem he will miss his ferry. The train personnel and the lady, however, both didn’t accept that answer of the head office. Some fast and “wild” French was spoken. Suddenly, the train conductor and the English lady came to my dad.

The lady explained that they would be reaching a town within a few minutes. He would have to get off there, but they had arranged a taxi, free of charge.

My dad realised that this town was about two hours away, but the lady told him not to worry, and that he’d make it.

At the town, my dad was all but thrown off the train and into the taxi. The car left immediately. Dad checked the speed of the car, and after the fourth traffic law was broken, he decided to pray that the insane driving of the taxi driver wouldn’t cause an accident.

When they reached the town of the ferry, they saw a lot of local cars in a jam. The taxi driver said they all had to get on the ferry, so not to worry! He passed them all and dropped off my dad as close as he could get, which was all but inside the ticket office.

The taxi driver helped get my dad his things, and they hurried to the ticket office. My dad didn’t have the time to properly thank the taxi driver. The ticket office employee told my dad he had made it with ten minutes to spare!

The employee also told him that because of the many people who still needed to take a ferry, they’d only just decided they would put in an extra ferry. So, even if my dad had missed the ferry, he would still have been able to go to my mom.

My dad messaged my mom, and she hopped into the car and hurried to the ferry own — without speeding and breaking laws. My dad arrived 30 minutes before she did. They were now reunited.

Dad did manage to push out thank-yous to the people who helped him, even though they were hurried ones. Thanks to the train personnel who wouldn’t take “no” from their bosses, the English lady, and the taxi driver, my dad safely reached his destination.

(This takes place when I’m in college. I get a call around ten am from the secretary of a doctor’s office, saying the doctor will be late for the appointment. The secretary got the wrong number and I’m not the person she was trying to reach. As I have class all morning, I only see the missed call and the message at noon. I assume it’s too late to call back to say they have the wrong number, because the appointment was scheduled the morning, anyway, so the patient probably already went to the doctor’s office. I don’t think about it anymore, but the next day I get another call from the secretary. This time she calls while I’m on my break, so I answer.)

Secretary: “Hello, [Patient]. This is [Doctor’s Office]. I’m calling you about your file; I need some info.”

Me: “Oh, actually, you got the wrong number; I’m not [Patient].”

Secretary: “What do you mean it’s the wrong number ? It’s…” *she dictates my phone number* “…right?”

Me: “Yes, it’s my number.”

Secretary: “So it’s the right number!”

Me: “…”

(I overhear two students talking.)

Student #1: “During my school trip in Italy–”

Student #2: *interrupting* “In Italy? Did you study Latin in middle school or high school?”

Student #1: “Neither.”

Student #2: “But how you can have the right to participate at a school trip in Italy without studying Latin?!”

Student #1: “Because I studied Italian.”

(Lately, a law was passed in France forbidding plastic bags in shops, to prevent pollution and people throwing plastic bags everywhere. Where I work, the CEO has decided to offer paper bags that cost 0,05 euros. You can, of course, leave without a bag or use one of your own. It is a Friday night. I am the youngest salesperson in the shop, so I have to attend the cash register. I also attend college for English studies. A man comes up to me with several items. At that moment, I don’t realise he is American and that he doesn’t speak fluent French.)

Me: “Would you like a paper bag?”

Customer: “I don’t care. Give me a plastic bag.”

Me: “I am sorry, sir. We don’t have them anymore; we just have those bags that cost 0,05 euros.”

(He is joined by his son, who asks me for a bag to carry the items, still in French. I explain to him that we don’t have free bags and that he will have to pay for one. Suddenly the older man starts yelling at me, in English:)

Customer: “I want a plastic bag! I’m an American! I shouldn’t have to follow French laws!”

Me: *in English* “Sorry, but you have to follow the law of the country.”

(His son brought a bag, clearly pissed at his dad and embarrassed, and they left. A week after, I learned that they complained about me and my “lack of professionalism” on the customer experience website.)

(I study dentistry at a dental clinic in France. The dental clinic is split into what we call services: surgery, prosthetics, urgent care, etc. That means that a patient who wants the teeth we remove to be replaced by a prosthesis needs to coordinate his appointments with both services. It’s more complicated than just going to a regular dentist, but in France clinics make you pay exactly what healthcare reimburses, making it free for everyone, apart from “better” acts, like implants. The basic stuff is 100% covered, though, and that’s why poor people come here. Every service is clearly labeled. I have this interaction while working in the surgery service, with a patient who has six teeth left, and NO prosthesis.)

Me: “So, according to your file, we have to remove those three teeth.”

Patient: “But you will replace them, right?”

Me: “It says in your file that you have an appointment in prosthesis; they will take care of it.”

Patient: “But I want you to do it now! It’s in two months!”

(It is rather urgent that his teeth be removed, as they have already become infected in the past.)

Me: “Ah, well, then, we can remove the teeth now, and you can go to your planned appointment. In fact, it’s not that bad; we require about two to three months of healing before we can make a fully-functional prosthesis.”

Patient: “What will I do without my teeth, though? I’d rather stay like this and come back in two months!”

(The teeth we’re talking about are premolars. His front teeth, the incisors, are long gone, as are his back teeth, his molars. The premolars serve no purpose if they’re not surrounded or faced by other teeth.)

Me: “Are you sure? They could get infected again and cause you a lot of pain. They’re of no use to you, you can’t eat with them, and we don’t see them when you smile.”

Patient: “I want to keep them! What would I do without them?”

(I don’t know, the exact same thing you’ve been doing for the past ten years with your six remaining rotten teeth? He ended up leaving and refused any care. Bet he’ll b**** and moan when, in two months, they tell him they can’t do a nice prosthesis for two other months…)