(My husband and I are flying home from our vacation. I’m a nervous flyer, and turbulence elevates my anxiety, big-time. Sure enough, our plane hits some turbulence. I close my eyes and start counting to 1000 in my head; for some reason, that seems to help. My husband holds my right hand to comfort me. A minute or so later, someone else grasps my left hand.)

Me: “Eh?” *opens eyes*

Flight Attendant: “Are you okay?” *lets go of my hand*

Me: “I’m a little nervous.”

Flight Attendant: “Look at me. If I’m not scared, you don’t have to be. Read your book; you’ll be fine.”

(And I was. I wrote a letter to the airline later, giving them her name and the flight number, telling them how awesome she is. I hope she got a raise.)

(It is the late 90s, and I am 12 years old. I get to go on a ten-day trip to Italy with my family and five other families. It is planned through a travel agency, so we are already signed up to see and do certain things. The day arrives when we reach Venice by bus, and I am not feeling well at all. It turns out, I’ve gotten food poisoning from the rest stop we ate breakfast at this morning. I am the only one who ate a particular bad food item, and therefore am the only one who is sick. My parents are pretty upset, because getting on a gondola is out of the question for me, and it’s something we’ve all been looking forward to. I am already nauseated enough on dry land. They are discussing which one of them will stay with me while the rest of our group goes on the gondolas, or if they could possibly switch off at some point, when our tour guide comes over with an older Italian lady.)

Tour Guide: “Good news! You can both go on the gondola ride. My friend here will stay with your daughter.”

Mom: “Oh! Thank you, but we don’t want to impose. I can stay with [My Name].”

Tour Guide: “No, no, no! You must experience the gondola! [My Name] can stay here with [Lady]. She owns a restaurant near where we will dock later.”

(After talking it out for a few minutes, and after our tour guide assures them again she’s known the lady for a long time, my parents agree to meet me at the restaurant after the gondola ride. So, the tour guide walks the lady and I back to her little restaurant on the water. I am so sick to my stomach that I nearly throw up again before we reach it. The tour guide leaves, and the lady ushers me inside the restaurant. Inside, the lady says something in rapid Italian. I know only a few words, and am so nauseated all I can do is stare at her and try to not throw up on her shoes. The lady clucks her tongue at me and guides me to a little back room with an attached bathroom. She tells everyone we pass something about me in Italian. I assume she is informing everyone of my plight, but who knows. I also think random people keep calling me bebe, which I assume means “baby.” I’m sure I look pretty miserable. I spend the afternoon alternating between running to the bathroom and huddling on a tiny couch in that room. The lady checks on me every so often, bringing me some kind of broth and water to drink. By the time my parents come back with the tour guide, I feel better enough to make it to our hotel. They are very grateful to the lady for looking after me, and we even go to eat at her restaurant before we leave Venice, when I am able to eat again. Back home from our trip, a friend is asking me for details about everything we saw in Italy.)

Friend: “Oh! Did you go on one of those little boat things in Venice? Did the driver sing that song they always sing in the movies?”

Me: “Uh… No. My mom and dad got to go, but I was sick.”

Friend: “Aw, really? You didn’t get to go at all?”

Me: “No, but I became very well-acquainted with a Venetian bathroom. I also think I have an Italian grandma, now.”

(Thank you again, kind Italian lady, for watching a sick kid who couldn’t understand a word you were saying!)

(I work in a classy fast food restaurant, and we typically have families or couples that make each day a great one. I truly enjoy my job. This particular day, I have an elderly couple at the register. They are nothing but smiles.)

Me: “Your total is $18.87.”

(One of the customers hands me a $20 bill.)

Me: “Okay, here’s your dollar bill and your coins.”

Customer: “Goody! I have a new dollar bill, so I can show you my joke. Do you have time?”

(They are currently the only ones ordering, so I oblige. He then hands me the dollar bill.)

Customer: “I want you to find three things on this dollar: an important person, a dairy product, and a movie title that was once a book.”

(I am stumped and can’t figure it out. The customer takes the dollar back.)

Customer: “The important person is the president. The dairy product—” *he proceeds to rip the dollar in half* “—is half and half. The movie title that was once a book—” *proceeds to throw the ripped bill in the air with great theatrics* “—is Gone with the Wind.”

(I’m a very emotional person, and laughing generally brings tears to my eyes, which my coworkers have gotten used to.)

Customer: “If I had known this would be your reaction, I would have used the $20 bill!”

(Since this incident, he and his wife have traveled from their town — around 50 miles away — every single month to visit me, bringing a new joke or piece of wisdom every time. The ripped dollar bill is framed in my room, with the joke written beside it, along with all of the other stories, jokes, and quotes that he’s given me. He recently stated that he has more enjoyment from telling people about my reactions than actually telling me the joke!)

(I work as a cashier. I am ringing another customer through while a grandmother and her approximately eight-year-old grandson are lining up. They have been talking in hushed whispers until it is nearly their turn.)

Grandmother: “I don’t know. If you want to tell her, go ahead and tell her!”

Eight-Year-Old Boy: *turns to me with a huge grin on his face and with complete confidence* “You’re really pretty!”

(That little boy made my day, and did the same for my coworkers and every customer around. Best customer ever. Thanks, little guy!)

I volunteer in the gift shop of a local hospital. One day a phlebotomist comes in to purchase a gift.

She’s carrying a tote filled with all her supplies, like needles, empty vials, etc. She tells me she’s very late in getting this gift and she needs to find something right away because she’ll be seeing the recipient in a few hours. I help her find an appropriate item. Then, because she’s going to be giving the gift that day right after work, I offer to put it into a nice bag with tissue. I tie some ribbon to the handle to make it more festive, and give her a free gift card to enclose.

She’s thanking me profusely for my wrapping job and then says, in all sincerity, “You’re such a lifesaver.” I look over to her tote and reply, “Umm, I think, literally, you are.”

Made me laugh to myself the rest of my shift at the irony of the fact that I volunteer in a hospital and I’m the lifesaver.