I work at a mechanic’s shop attached to a gas station. The gas station part is tiny: a cashier’s counter with some snacks and candy bars under it, and a single drinks cooler. I’m getting ready to go to lunch when I see a young woman come in, scan the bottom shelf where car supplies would usually be, and then go back out to her car with the hood popped. I don’t have anything going on right now, so I decide to see if she needs a hand.

Me: “What were you looking for?”

Driver: “Huh? Oh, coolant. I’m not too low, but I was hoping to pick some up so I could top it off. It’s fine; I’ll make it to the next gas station.”

I check her coolant tank, and her assessment’s correct. It’s pretty close to the “low” line but not worrying yet. No reason to let it get there, though.

Me: “I think I have an open jug that’ll work for this model. Let me check.”

Driver: “Are you sure? That’s not necessary; I can wait.”

Me: “You probably could, but no reason to. I’ll be right back.”

Driver: “I— Are you sure? Thank you!”

I find the right type of coolant and top off her tank. As I finish, she’s rummaging in the back seat, and she pulls out a plate of gorgeous-looking cookies and sweets.

Driver: “Can I offer you a few cookies as a thank-you, at least?”

Me: “That, I’ll happily accept! What would you recommend?”

At her recommendation, I picked out a couple made with cherries and almonds and one with chestnuts and rum. My hands were still covered in coolant and engine grease, so she wrapped them in a paper towel for me, and we both happily went on our way. The cookies made an awesome addition to lunch. 

Related:
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The CEO Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Stolen Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Ninth Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Cookie Infuriatingly Crumbles

I occasionally take advantage of fast food coupons and indulge in stuff way off my diet. I got in the drive-thru for the place that has one of my favorite french fries and waited, along with the three cars ahead of me. Note that this was before the normal lunch rush, as I also hate waiting.

I waited.

And waited.

At first, I thought the customer at the order stand was just taking an abnormally long time and got frustrated with that customer. But it continued with every customer after the first. I realized that it was a staffing issue, not a customer issue.

When I finally got to the window to make my order, my anger had cooled; I’ve gotten food from this place lots of times and have gotten great service and accurate orders, and staffing issues happen.

Me: “Short-staffed today?”

Worker: “Yeah, just two of us here.”

I looked at my wallet and thought, “You know what? I can afford to help out here.” After getting my order, I checked to see if my receipt was there. It wasn’t.

Me: “Can I have the receipt?”

Worker: “Here you go.”

As she handed me the receipt, I handed her a twenty.

Me: “Tip.”

Worker: “No way!”

Me: “Yes way.”

Worker: “Thank you so much!”

And I was glad I could help out a couple of frazzled fast food workers as I drove off.

Related:
Tipped To Be A Good Day, Part 3
Tipped To Be A Good Day, Part 2
Tipped To Be A Good Day

During my first week as a flight attendant, I spilled hot coffee on a first-class passenger’s lap. (He was wearing light denim jeans.) Of course, I was mortified.

Customer: “Please don’t say another word about it. If this is the worst thing that happens today, then it was a good day.”

It’s been about ten years, and I still think about this kind man.

I went on a long motorcycle trip to Montreal to see the Grand Prix race and had a great time. On the way back, I realised I had a bunch of Canadian cash. I was hungry, so I stopped at a motel, but they had no cafe. The staff insisted they spoke no English. This was at the border in Plattsburgh, New York.

I started riding around and followed signs for a Fort “Something”, thinking there would be a food place there. It was a very pleasant ride through the countryside, and then I arrived at a marina with a restaurant across the street.

I walked up and a young kid sweeping the veranda said something in French. “Oh, boy,” I thought. “Here we go again.”

The boy could speak some English and said he was glad to have the opportunity to practice it.

I ordered a very fine meal and ate while looking at the yachts across the street. When I finished, I gave the boy all the leftover money I had, which constituted a huge tip. He made up for the rude people back at the border.

When I was in college, my old high school — where my mother worked — moved locations. We couldn’t afford another car, so I carpooled with my mom and took the bus to get to the college. I also had undiagnosed ADHD, which will explain things later.

One day, I was waiting for her workday to be finished after I’d gotten back — school hours were flexible, so teachers stayed a while — so I went for a walk. If you went a quarter-mile across a field, you could get to a strip mall where there was a coffee place, and I wanted to try it out.

I got there. I ordered.

I had apparently forgotten my debit card.

The cashier took pity on me and gave me the coffee. I still remember how nice of her that was.