(I am a photographer running a studio in the inner city. We are well known for our children’s portraits, and we range from high-end portraits for modelling jobs to fun sibling photos and birth announcements. We do a bit of everything; as such, we are extremely busy, and it states on our website that we do not accept walk-ins. We are usually booked up six months in advance. One day, ten minutes before closing, a mum walks in with a young girl around six or seven behind her. I internally groan.)

Mother: “Hello. I know you’re closing soon, but I have a special favour to ask.”

(At this point the little girl peeks around her mother’s legs and I’m lost for words. Under her thick winter coat and hat, she is skeletally thin with huge dark circles under her eyes. From what I can tell, she has no hair, and a tube taped to her cheek that feeds into her nose. It is immediately clear this kid is very, very sick.)

Mother: *near tears* “My daughter saw one of your photos taped to the wall at the hospital. She REALLY loves unicorns and the photo had a girl photo-shopped onto a horse. I know you’re booked up, and it’s months before the next appointment, but…”

(At this point she actually starts crying. I realise that our next available appointment is probably way too far away for this particular kid. The little girl squeezes her mother’s hand. I am a very big dude, covered in tattoos and a beard, but I’m not ashamed to say I needed a minute before I spoke.)

Me: “Aww, that’s just for regular customers! I’ve been waiting all day to take a photo of someone as beautiful as you! What’s your name, sweetheart?”

(I lock the front door and spend the next three hours taking photos of this kid in every princess costume I have in my closet. She is the sweetest, most well-behaved kid I have ever worked with. Once we’re done she curls up on the couch in my office and falls asleep while I load up the photos for her mum to see and choose the ones she likes best, and ask her what kind of retouching she’d like done. She’s adamant that I leave her daughter as is — apparently the little girl has been worried for the past month that she is no longer “pretty.”)

Me: “All right, so we’ve settled on these. I can have them edited and all finished in two days. If you give me your email I can send you the link to the website and the password to download them when they’re ready.”

(The mother thanks me over and over and comes up front, carrying her sleeping daughter, and holds out her credit card.)

Me: “Nope. No way.”

Mother: “Please, I insist. You stayed open so late and your shoots are listed for [amount] online. Please at least charge me that.

Me: “Absolutely not. I am not taking money for this. No way in h***.”

(A few days later I send the link through and hear nothing. I see she’s downloaded the photos and I think nothing of it, hoping my sweet little friend loved her photos. Almost six months later I’m once again closing up when a very familiar face pops up at my window, grinning and waving frantically.)

Me: *throwing open the door* “Hey, you!”

Little Girl: “Hi! I’m better! Look, I’m better!”

(Sure enough, she’d put on some weight, was flushed and pink, and had a fine fuzz of hair over her head. Her mother was a few steps behind her, grinning. She once again tried to force an envelope full of money into my hand, and again I refused. She got frustrated and eventually in her exasperation said, “at least let us take you to dinner!” which I happily accepted. Seven years later that photo of a sick little girl astride a giant pink unicorn is in a frame in my lounge room. My now-step-daughter groans every time I point it out to the friends she brings home!)

(I’ve chosen to take Legal Studies as one of my Year 12 courses. As part of the course, we’re allowed to go to a local prison to meet some of the inmates and hear about their experiences with the criminal justice system. Since the bus to the prison leaves fairly early from school, my dad agrees to drive me to school.)

Dad: “Hey, [Radio Station] is having one of their contests on in five minutes!”

(He calls, and manages to get through to the station.)

Operator: “What are you doing up so early today?”

Dad: “I’m taking my daughter to prison!”

(Thanks, Dad. On the plus side, that particular statement DID get him on the radio.)

(It’s after midnight and we’re in bed, but the dog is insistent on playing.)

Me: “No, puppy! Stop trying to force your balls under the blanket. They’re gross and it’s sleep time.”

Partner: “I’m so glad it’s you saying that to the dog and not me to you.”

(I have just been hired as a computers/technology teacher. I’ve decided to make my grade five and six classes learn touch typing, as it’s a valuable skill. I’m a bit worried they’re going to put up a fight and groan about it, as most of them just want to play computer games in class, so I have a trick up my sleeve that I hope will convince them to get on board. I have just made them all take a typing test. Most of them averaged 10-20 words per minute.)

Me: “Okay, guys, everyone come back and sit on the carpet. I want to show you something.” *I pull up the same typing test onto my computer which projects onto a board, so they can see my screen.* “I’m going to show you why we’re learning this.”

(I take the same typing test that they’ve just done. However I am a very fast typist and break 100 words per minute with zero errors. My students watch, first in silence, but as time ticks down they start to shout and chant. By the end of the test half of them are on their feet cheering me on. Not gonna lie; I feel like a superstar.)

Student: “Daaaaaang, she types faster than Usain Bolt runs!”

(I have them start the typing program and they literally run to their computers. After class ends I hear many of them talk about my typing skills as they file out of the room. The next day several students tell me they logged onto the program at home to practice more. They’re now so excited to learn, and would rather practice typing than play computer games in class. I love my job!)