(While working a temporary job at a thrift store, I am usually working in the back room, sorting donations. Every so often, I’ll be called out to clean up the floor, as I am one of the few full-time workers. I am sorting the women’s plus-size section.)

Customer: “Oh, hey, could you hand me that black skirt there, right next to the jeans?”

(I oblige and hand her the hanger.)

Customer: *looks at the size tag* “Oh, no, this is too big for me. But it looks like it would fit you.”

(I am a large guy, who sometimes indulges in cross-dressing.)

Me: “Well, thank you, ma’am. Are you sure it’s my color, though?”

(I keep sorting the rack as we talk.)

Customer: *sensing that I’m not joking* “Well, of course. I bet it’d look good with that black and white top in the next row.”

Me: “That sounds like a good mix. There’s just one problem: employees aren’t allowed to purchase items. I’m not sure why.”

Customer: “Well, maybe you can find something similar at another store.”

(The conversation goes on for a little while and when I finish, I see an eight-year-old girl by the books, trying to reach up for a toy on the shelf. As I hand it to her, she asks me this:)

Little Girl: “Mister, do you dress up like a girl?”

Me: “Yes, I do, but not when I’m at work.”

Little Girl: “I bet you’re really pretty.”

(This immediately brightens my mood until her mother steps in.)

Mother: “No, he isn’t. Boys aren’t meant to be pretty. Only girls are.”

(The little girl looks at her mother, back to me, and to the customer I was helping.)

Little Girl: “Mommy’s lying. You would be very pretty! Like a… giant princess!”

Customer & Me: *laughing*

Me: “Thanks, little girl! I’m going to put that on my business card!”

Little Girl: “Okay! Bye-bye, Princess!”

Related:
That Is ‘Pretty’ Awesome

Many years ago, before cell phones, my wife and I were traveling through rural western Pennsylvania late Christmas night when our car broke down with no houses anywhere in sight. We resigned ourselves to spending the night in the car. When the sun came up, we saw that there was a farmhouse not too far away, so I knocked on the door, explained our predicament, and asked to use the phone to call a tow truck.

That’s all I asked for: to use the phone.

This is what I got:

They invited us inside, gave us coffee, and fixed us breakfast. The farmer told us there wasn’t any place around where we could get the car fixed on the day after Christmas. I asked about auto parts store. I had tools; I could fix it myself if I could get the right part. He called around until he found a store that was open and drove me there, while our wives had more coffee in the kitchen. They had the part, but I had no credit cards, and they didn’t want to take my personal check because it was from out of state. The farmer told the store manager that he would guarantee my check. After we got back, he insisted on helping me install the part in freezing rain.

And he wouldn’t take a dime.

We stopped there again on our way home a few days later, with a box of chocolates.

And since that time, I have never, ever accepted payment for helping someone else out. When people ask why not, I tell them this story. Thirty-five years later, I still can’t tell — or type — this story without crying.

This story is part of our International Day Of Happiness roundup!

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(I used to live on what was basically a commune, accessible only by boat. We also only had a marine radio for communication. Once a month, a couple of us would take the battered farm boat into town to run errands. We would usually go to the library and take out the maximum number of books, which would be due in 30 days. One month, we have a large box of books to go back to the library, but the boat motor has packed it in, and it is a couple of weeks before we can get it repaired and get into town. We approach the library desk with trepidation, fearing a huge fine.)

Librarian: “Oh, it’s you guys. When you didn’t come in for so long, I figured something had to be wrong, so I renewed all your books.”

(Thank you, library lady!)

(I have been working at the same bookstore for three years, but I have a terrible memory for faces and names. Customers remember me much more frequently than I remember them. One day, I am very busy and overtaxed when a lady walks up to me.)

Customer: “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I was in here last year.”

(I don’t remember her at all and cringe inwardly, waiting to hear what her complaint is.)

Customer: “You recommended this travel guide to me, and I had the most lovely vacation! I just wanted to let you know.”

Me: “Oh. Uh, thank you! People never come back and tell me when something was good.”

(She left with another travel book.)

I struggle with anxiety and while I have recently figured out a very effective way to manage it, this happened shortly before I did that. It was kind of the wake-up call I needed to make me realize I needed some help. This will be important later.

I have a little black kitty who had been acting like she had a bladder infection or UTI, so I took her in to the vet’s office. They kept her overnight because she was apparently pretty dehydrated, even though there is always fresh water out for her. The vet said it wasn’t uncommon for cats to stop drinking water when they have bladder issues, because it means they have to go less often.

I left her there and went home. I knew that logically, my kitty was going to be fine, because bladder issues aren’t the end of the world, but I still worried about her all night and didn’t sleep well because of it. She’s a very timid cat and really only likes me, so I worried even more knowing she was probably pretty anxious, too.

By the time I went in the next day to pick her up, I looked okay on the outside, but inside, I was falling apart. I got up to the receptionist’s desk and as I started speaking, my throat tightened up and my eyes started to water, I was so overwhelmed. The lady behind the counter was late-40s or so, definitely a motherly type. She was immediately concerned and asked what was wrong, and I just lost it.

Five-or-so years prior to this incident, my other cat, who is my absolute best friend in the world and my therapy cat, had a urinary issue as well, but in male cats, they aren’t minor issues. He had a blockage over his urethra, which could have killed him. I was 21 years old at the time and spent $2000 I didn’t have to save my cat. He’s been great ever since then, but it was one of the scariest experiences of my life, and apparently it was traumatic enough that dealing with minor feline urinary tract issues now is a trigger and sends me into a two-day anxiety attack.

I explained all that (more briefly) to the receptionist (let’s call her Sandy), and rather than tell me not to worry, or that everything would be okay — two very pointless things to tell people who are experiencing an anxiety/panic attack — she thought for a second and then asked me, “Would you like to see a baby possum?”

I was taken aback at first, wasn’t really sure I’d heard her correctly, but she was not kidding! She took me back to her office, where she did some basic wildlife rehabilitation. She got the baby possum out of its crate and handed him to me! I couldn’t focus on anything except the adorably ugly little rodent in my hands, so my anxiety attack quickly passed. I held him and talked to Sandy a bit about her rescue and rehab adventures, and when I gave the possum back, I was able to take a deep breath and start over. I gave Sandy my kitty’s information and she brought her out a few minutes later. I paid the bill and we were on our way home!

I was so touched by Sandy’s concern and the way she handled the situation. I couldn’t believe that a complete stranger knew what I needed when I didn’t even know myself. The next day, I made sure to stop at a coffee shop that is walking distance to the veterinary hospital and got her a gift card, and I wrote her a thank you note. She wasn’t working when I brought it in, but I hope it made its way to her and I hope she knows just how much I appreciate her. It wasn’t a big thing that she did, but it made a big difference to me!