(The street I live on is not really built for high speeds. Cars are often parked on both sides, especially the part I live on, there are a couple of bends that are awkward to see around, and a few junctions concealed by parked cars. Still, you get the idiots who think they’re invincible and can do 40 mph in a narrow, built-up area. I am getting out of my own car when one of these drivers comes pelting down the road, only to have to slam his brakes on to avoid an oncoming car. The driver who is nearly hit rolls down his window, and slowly moves into a gap between parked cars to be level with the speeding guy. I expect a full-on row. Instead I hear this:)

Driver #1: “Mate, how fast were you going down there, then?”

Driver #2: “What?”

Driver #1: “How fast were you going?”

Driver #2: “Don’t know. Wasn’t speeding, was I?”

Driver #1: “Yeah, you were, actually. And you’ve got a kid in the car. You’ve got to be more responsible, mate. Drive like that on your own if you don’t care about crashing, but not with your son in the car. All right, mate? You’ve got to look after your kid.”

(The second driver looked like he’d just been told off by his mother. He gave a “thank you” gesture, which the first driver returned, and they went off on their way. If road-rage could be turned into that kind of conversation it will be a lot more productive! Hopefully the speeding dad learnt something and started being more responsible.)

(It is exam week and my computer has broken down this very morning, which leads to me failing the two exams I had. I had put an all-nighter the night before. I am really tired, and have cried for hours, and I have one h*** of a migraine. I have left school feeling like garbage. I go to the pharmacy, eyes red from crying for hours, to buy some painkillers even though I barely have money left.)

Me: *weakly, still sobbing* “Excuse me, do you have something for a migraine?”

Pharmacist: *without looking at me* “Yes, we have [Brand #1] or [Brand #2]. Which one…” *finally looking at me* “Oh, sweetie! Are you all right?”

Me: “Not really… I’ll have [Brand #1], please.”

(She did take the box from the shelf, but instead of selling it to me; she actually opened the box, even though I hadn’t paid for it yet, put one of the pills in my hand, and got me a glass of water.)

Pharmacist: “Here, honey… Do you want to sit in the back for a few minutes so you can rest a little?”

Me: “Oh, thank you, ma’am. That’s so nice of you!”

(That woman got me to smile for the first time through that Hellish day. Her simple demonstration of kindness made my day a lot more bearable. Thank you, lady!)

(I am going home after taking my two miniature horses to the vet clinic for their annual vaccinations. Halfway home, my borrowed truck starts to shudder, then with a loud BANG the right rear tire blows out! I find a nice place to pull over on FM 51, and get out to assess the damage and check the ponies (they are fine). The tire is shredded, so I dig out the jack, and jack up the truck. I also manage to get the spare out from underneath, but it’s soft- I’m a bit concerned. As I struggle with the lug nuts, a truck pulls up on the road right next to where I pulled over and a man and his two young sons get out.)

Man: “Do you need help?”

Me: “I’ll take all the help I can get! I can’t get the lugnuts off.”

Man: “I have a bar, we can crack the nuts and get them off.”

(He manages to get all the nuts off the wheel, but the rim itself has rusted onto the wheel. Kicking and pounding have no effect. Another man in the yard next to where I pulled off comes over.)

Nice Man #2: “Do you need a sledge?”

Nice Man #1: “It might help.”

Me: “Do what you need to do!”

(Meanwhile, trucks and cars are flying up the highway way too fast for my liking, and I am afraid someone will plow into the back of my trailer with my ponies in it. I am off the road, but barely. Nice Man #1 and Nice Man #2 beat the rim, and it finally lets go. Nice Man #2 takes his sledge and goes home.)

Nice Man #1: “This tire is soft. Let me take it home and put some air in it.”

Me: “Sure, thanks so much!”

(Nice Man #1 goes home, and returns 15 minutes later.)

Nice Man #1: “I think the valve is bad; I’m going to run it to Weatherford to my buddy’s tire place and get it repaired.”

Me: “Wow, thanks so much!”

(Twenty minutes later, he returns with a tire. I help him put it back on, but I notice, it’s NOT the same tire he took, that one was muddy from being under the truck, and the tread was different! It’s used, but in FAR better condition than the spare had been! I offer him money for his help, but he refuses.)

Me: “Can I give you a hug then, instead?”

(He gave me a hug and went on his way. Thank you, nice men and two sons. I have no idea what I would have done, as I had no one to call and no way to get my ponies home.)

(I’m in my 30s. At a certain theme park you can buy wands that interact with the park. I did notice that at the older part of the park it was harder to get the sensors to work. I made one thing work and a little girl, maybe eight, came up next to me and looked very upset that her movements weren’t making the thing go off.)

Girl: “My wand won’t work. I’m not magic.”

Me: “What?! Yes, you are I can tell! One second. You have to wait for it. Here, stand right here. Make sure you are doing exactly what is on the medal under your feet.” *watching for the red lights in the sensors to come back on* “Okay, now!”

(She tried a few times and it didn’t work. My mom went up to her to try and help her with her wand work. She was getting frustrated and drawing a crowd that was cheering her on. Finally it registered the movements and everyone clapped.)

Me: “See! I knew you could do it!”

My Mom: “You’ll be getting an owl with a letter any day now!”

(Her dad comes up behind me and quietly speaks to us.)

Her Dad: “You guys are awesome! Thank you!”

(The girl ran up to her dad asking if he saw what she did with the biggest smile on her face. There is a little witch in all of us.)

(I am an American living in London. I jump into a taxi, and the driver hears my accent.)

Driver: “Are you an American?”

Me: “Uh… yes I am.”

(I think I am in for a lecture or worse, but then the driver turns to me, sadness in his eyes.)

Driver: “I want to thank all the American friends. If it wasn’t for the American Marines and the British who came to Kosovo, my family would not be alive. My parents would be dead, I would not be here today and have my beautiful children. I am so thankful to the peacekeeper Marines who were stationed in Kosovo.”

(No amount of taxi-ride small talk was going to compare to that!)