(I work in a call center for a bank, in their debit card fraud department. Around Christmas one year, my grandmother calls me into the kitchen, very upset with something.)

Grandma: “I tried to buy [Cousin] something from [Business], but they never sent it. I paid for this a month ago, and it never arrived. I just got off the phone with them; they’re saying they have no record of the transaction, but it’s here on my credit card bill!

Me: “Okay. We’re calling the bank and reporting it.”

Grandma: “No, no… it’s a hassle. I don’t want to be on the phone all day with them.”

(This annoys me, because this is how my grandmother is. She’d much rather have something to complain about so people would feel sorry for her, instead of taking care of it.)

Me: “No, come on, here. Sit down. I’m gonna call in and verify you through the robot, and you’re gonna take the phone and tell them you want me to talk to them for you. Okay?”

(She agrees, and after twenty minutes on hold – call volume around this time means normally a 40- to 50-minute wait – we get an associate. She tells them she wants me to talk to them, she has to answer another security question, and I take the phone.)

Me: “Hi, this is [My Name]. I actually work in the debit card fraud department in the [City] call center. I need to report fraud on my grandmother’s credit card, please.”

(It took me five minutes to explain the situation, report the fraud, and get the issue fully settled. When I went in to work the next day, I had a soda sitting on my desk with a little note. Turns out the person I’d spoken to was also in my call center, just on the other end of the room. She said I’d been her nicest and quickest call all day!)

(It is Christmas Day, and I am just leaving my in-laws’ house around 6:00 pm after a busy, hectic day of festivities, with my three small children in tow. My husband is working nights, and I have been battling a massive migraine for the past few hours. As I’m driving home, contemplating how I’m going to manage to get through dinner and bedtime when I can barely function enough to drive, I see that a local fast food place — known for its drive-in stalls, but often has a drive-thru — is still open. Normally, I don’t frequent businesses on holidays, because I don’t agree with employees having to work, but out of desperation, I turn into the drive-thru. When I get up to the window, I hand over my check card and a $20 bill.)

Me: “Here, this is for you guys in there to split. Like a tip. I want you to know I really appreciate you guys being open right now, and it’s the least I can do.”

Cashier: “Oh, no… That’s okay.”

Me: “No, really. Take it. I know you can take tips when you take food to the drive-in stalls, so just consider it a tip for everyone to share. And thank you for working on a holiday.”

(The cashier reluctantly took the money, and a few minutes later, I was driving home with the food. When I got home, I looked in the bags to discover that, instead of the medium onion ring that I had ordered, one entire bag was full of onion rings! It was a small gesture of thanks, but I was able to nurse my migraine that night while pigging out on onion rings and didn’t have to cook a full dinner before wrestling the kids to bed. It was a godsend. Thank you, fast food workers! You guys don’t get enough credit for what you do!)

(My boyfriend and I are vacationing. We have our pet dog with us. Even though I’m disabled and use a wheelchair, Fido is not a service animal. This occurs at check-in.) 

Desk Clerk: “Your total is [amount that is much lower than quoted when we made the reservation].”

Boyfriend: “That’s for the suite, right? With the pet fee?” 

Desk Clerk: “We’re not allowed to charge extra for service animals.”

Me: “Fido’s just a pet, though. We don’t want to take advantage.”

Desk Clerk: “Thanks for being honest, guys. Just consider the extra charge waived as a thank-you.”

(I attend an expensive private high school on a scholarship. My family could absolutely not afford the tuition without the scholarship, meaning I’m on a much lower socioeconomic level than my classmates. Every fall, the school holds a walkathon where students are supposed to get people from the community to pledge money to the school based on how many miles the student walks. No one in the community ever wants to donate to the rich, private school when the local public school is critically underfunded, so everyone just gets their parents to write a check. If a student fails to meet the $100 donation threshold, they’re not allowed to participate in the walkathon. However, they’re still required to come to school that day. So, instead of taking a hike through the woods with their classmates and then spending the rest of the day having fun in the park, they have to spend the whole day sitting quietly in a classroom alone. It’s basically day-long detention for being poor. Every year so far, my family has scraped together enough money for me to attend walkathon, but in my senior year — twelfth grade — money is too tight. I’ve resigned myself to a day of boredom. A few days before the walkathon, I’m turning in some paperwork to one of the school’s secretaries. She’s worked with me before concerning my scholarship, and she knows that I otherwise couldn’t afford to attend the school.)

Secretary: *adding the paperwork to my file* “Well, looks like that’s in order. Oh, wait! I don’t see your walkathon form in here.”

Me: “Oh. I’m not going this year.”

Secretary: *looks at me and then shuffles through some more papers* “I also see you haven’t used all your college visit days.”

(Every senior gets a certain number of excused absences to visit colleges, so long as they arrange it with the office first and bring proof of the visit afterward. I’ve already been accepted to my first-choice college.)

Me: “I already got into [College]. I didn’t need them all.”

Secretary: “It’s always good to know all your options. Why don’t you take another college tour? It can be on any school day. Any day at all that you’re required to be in school.”

Me: “Ooooh, I see. Can I have a copy of the college visit form? Actually, can I have two?”

(After leaving the office with the forms, I immediately went to find my friend, who also wasn’t looking forward to the walkathon since the hiking trail wasn’t suitable for her disability. Every year, she had to attend the walkathon anyway and just sit at a picnic table with a teacher all day. She also hadn’t used all her college visit days, so we both signed up for a tour of a local college on the day of the walkathon. That day, we slept in, went on the college tour just long enough to get proof that we went, and goofed off the rest of the day. We brought the secretary a fancy cupcake from a little bakery near the college as thanks.)

(I’m a twenty-five-year-old trans woman. I work as a cashier, and I pass really well, apparently. On this day, I’m behind the customer service counter telling my supervisor a funny work story before beginning my shift as the online shopper — people order online and I shop in the store for them to pick up. An older woman approaches the desk. My supervisor and a coworker with us are both men.)

Customer: “Young lady! Excuse me, young lady!”

(Upon realising she’s talking to me, I turn around to face her.)

Me: “Yes, how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, I need some assistance in finding pads for my granddaughter who, erm, you know. What would you suggest?”

Me: *internally* “Oh, God…” *externally, upon taking her to that section* “Well, these are very good. I haven’t had any complaints. This brand is also very fine, as well.”

(Long story short, I upsell the brand I see some of my female-born coworkers use the most often, since we only sell three brands. The entire time I’m saying things like “excellent absorbency,” and the like, and she’s nodding and soaking it all in — pun intended. She hasn’t the slightest idea I know nothing of what I am saying.)

Customer: “Oh, thank you, thank you, young lady! I think this is perfect!”

(I later tell my female supervisor, who laughs very hard.)

Supervisor: “Girl, that’s amazing. And you weren’t wrong, those are pretty good. Seriously, you should be in marketing.”