I had just finished shopping at a large mall and decided to treat myself by stopping at the food court for some food that wasn’t good for me at all. It was the beginning of the holiday season so the food court was busy but not packed. I got my food, sat at one of the tables, and enjoyed some people watching while I ate.

I noticed a mom sitting at a table with four kids: what looked like twin one-year-olds in a stroller, a four-year-old that looked like he was going to bolt at the first chance he got, and an eight-year-old girl. The mother had gotten her children’s meals from a popular fast food restaurant and was trying to keep the four-year-old focused on his food and feed the twins baby food from a jar. All I could think was, “You brave woman.”

Now, the eight-year-old appeared upset. She apparently got a boy’s toy in her meal. I sympathized; I always hated that when I was small. The mother, who had her hands full, told the girl she could go exchange the toy since they were sitting right in front of the restaurant.

The eight-year-old went up to the counter but was ignored by the cashier. Then customers started pushing in front of her and talking over her. She looked to her mom for help and I could see the mom trying to wrangle the other children so she could go help.

I am a very shy adult and I was an even shyer child. But I couldn’t watch this without doing something. I marched up to the girl and asked her if she wanted a girl’s toy. She nodded yes, doing her best not to cry. Now, I may be shy, but I’m a large woman with a voice that carries when I choose to use it. I marched up to the counter with the little girl and let loose.

“EXCUSE ME! THIS CHILD WOULD LIKE THE GIRL’S TOY, PLEASE!

Everyone stopped, and a startled cashier quickly handed the toy in exchange. I then walked the girl back to her table. The mom thanked me and the little girl gave me a hug. But the best part was when the little boy looked at me and said, “You have a superhero voice!”

I’ve been going through a bit of a rough time lately and living from paycheck to paycheck. The day I get paid, I can’t sleep, and I head to the ATM at 4:30 am leaving my partner at home with our two kids.

Since I’m with a bank that has recently shut most of their branches, I have to use a different bank. The ATM gives my card back without the cash before displaying a system error. I check my online banking to find it has taken the money from my account but not actually given me the cash.

I call my bank to find out I have to go into a branch to dispute it and it will take up to two weeks. By the time the bank opens, I’m a complete mess, I have two kids that need nappies and formula, we have no food in the house, both my partner and I need medication, and we have rent to pay.

The first employee fills out a dispute transaction form and then tells me there’s nothing else they can do as I’m receiving government benefits — which actually is this bank’s policy on overdrafts. She then gets the branch manager. The manager spends over an hour on the phone but reassures me that if they can’t sort it out today, she will give me $100 out of her own account to make sure we at least have the basics until it’s sorted out or until my partner gets paid in a few days.

In the end, she manages to get an overdraft for the full amount I am due. I truly believe she would have given me the money from her own account, too. Before I leave she gives me a hug.

To the manager of the branch of a small, out-of-state bank in Melbourne City, if you’re reading this, thank you for going above and beyond for a very stressed-out, crying woman. Your kindness and understanding are amazing.

I’m a fairly young-looking girl. I’ve recently started working a fairly horrible shift — three am to eleven am — sorting parcels to make some extra money for Christmas, around three miles from my home. I don’t drive, so I bought a bike to make life easier, as there’s no one I know that can give me a lift at those sort of times.

This morning I set off from home as usual. It was pretty icy out, and I blamed that for the slight veering and wobbling along the way. About ten minutes in, I realised that my handlebars had misaligned, and were getting looser and looser. Thinking that by the time I got home to take it back I’d be late for work, I decided to just push the d*** thing to work and deal with just being a few minutes late… completely forgetting that the route I take is cycle-based into an industrial area outside of town, and most of the rest of the way is pitch-black and without pavement or a sidewalk. But at least I had my visibility vest from work, and nothing happened apart from being rained on.

I finally finished work at 11, realised that I was exhausted, and I couldn’t risk veering all over the road when there was actual traffic, but at least I could catch a bus halfway and just push my bike the rest. I saw an off-duty bus driver pull up at the parcel depot I was leaving to collect a parcel, and thinking that I’d never tried to take a bike on a bus I should probably ask before detouring to the bus stop. He told me that unless it’s a long journey route, there’s no bike racks or space, and none the city buses in this area allow them. And at that point, I realised how much I’d been counting on the idea of not having to walk the whole hour in the rain. I was exhausted. I managed to hold back the tears that started to form and thanked him for telling me. I began slowly pushing the dang bike in the general direction of home, trying to map a walking route on my nearly-dead phone.

About five minutes later, the same guy pulled over next to me in his not-in-service bus and told me that it wasn’t ideal, but the route to the depot to drop his bus off went quite close to town, and he wouldn’t mind dropping me off.

I almost began to see the world as if I were in some anime, and a shining white Knight was offering to help. My eyes widened and glistened as I could only croak the word, “Really?”

My house was actually nearer the depot than the town centre, and this wonderful person dropped me off less than two minutes from my house, for free. He spent the journey asking questions and taking my mind off how awful I’d been feeling since starting these horrible shifts, and telling me how things will get better.

I know it’s a stupid and small thing in the grand scheme of things, but at that moment it felt like the single nicest thing anyone had ever done for someone. And I’m not one for fuzzy feelings or faith in humanity. But today, at least for a little while, faith in humanity seems like a viable concept.

Recently my wife and I were flying from Vienna to Bucharest. Seated with us was a young woman from Canada whose flight to Toronto the previous day had been canceled. She was being rerouted via Romania, and she had a tight connection.

When we landed, she worked her way through the crowd as quickly as possible and disappeared ahead of us. We passed a door for connecting flights and assumed she went there, but when we got to passport control she was in the non-citizen line about twelve places back. She told us she’d tried to go to her connecting flight but was redirected here. The line was moving glacially and she would never make her new flight. Frustrated, she began to cry, and my wife and I tried to comfort her.

Then, a woman in the line for citizens noticed what was going on and walked over. She intuited what was happening and went to the front of our line. With gestures, she convinced the people at the head of the line to let the young woman and another man in an identical situation to go next.

When the official at passport control heard their story she left her booth and lead them to the area behind it, where she found someone to take them to their plane. Since there was still close to thirty minutes left, I believe they made the flight.

I’m on my way home and decide to stop at a supermarket near my train station to get some cash from the ATM, so I can grab takeaway on the walk home. That is when I realise that I can’t find my purse. I know I had it when I got on the train and realise that I must have left it on the seat while either taking my book out or putting it back in. I start to walk home, intending to call my bank when it get there, since I don’t want to call my bank in the middle of the supermarket car park.

I haven’t walked more than a few meters when my phone rings with an unknown number. It’s the support line for a youth organisation I volunteer with. I immediately start to panic, thinking something bad has happened, and wondering what else could go wrong today. But to my surprise, she asks if I’ve lost my purse, and when I tell her I have she says that someone has found it, found my ID card for the youth organisation in it, and called them. She then used my membership number to find my record and get my mobile number.

She gives me the phone number of the person who found my purse and I thank her. I call the number. The man had been sitting opposite me on the train and seen me leave my purse, but couldn’t get it back to me before the train doors closed. He apologises for going through my purse and cards to find a phone number. I arrange to meet him in one of the main city train stations, and he hands it to me over the ticket barrier. I have my purse back within an hour of realising I’d lost it.

The whole thing really restored my faith in people, not only that someone wouldn’t just automatically keep my purse but also would go to the trouble of finding a way to return it to me directly rather than just hand it into the station. Thanks to that man, and to the woman on our organisation’s phone that night, I’ve put a business card in there now, so at least next time someone can call me directly — I’d like to say that leaving something like this was a one off, but it really wasn’t!