I went to an all-girls high school. One day, when I was fourteen or fifteen, we had a hired job counselor come and hold a presentation on possible careers. It bored all of us to tears.

But the worst part was that at one point, the counselor suddenly stopped, looked around, apparently realised that we were all female, and said this gem:

“Oh, you’re all girls. You don’t need to plan for a long career; you’ll all get married and have children.”

I walked out.

I was shopping in a high street clothing shop when I overheard a conversation between a girl in her twenties and an older lady who clearly had problems with her vision. Both were customers but the younger woman was beautifully dressed so the older woman assumed she worked there.

Instead of walking away or being rude to the older woman, the younger of the two patiently helped the older woman with her shopping, reading labels and even finding another size on the rack for her.

After years working in hospitality and dealing with all kinds of awkward customers — and often coworkers, too — it was really lovely to see someone just being a decent human, helping another person out, and not making a big deal of it.

This story was included in our May 2020 Inspirational Roundup.

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We are several months into a worldwide health crisis and my mother-in-law is currently laid off from her work. This means she’s home three extra days per week when she’d normally be working. She lives with my husband and me.

It’s just after dinner on a Sunday night and we’re getting ready to do the dishes when she turns to me.

“The soap is going down much faster than it used to,” she says. “Don’t worry about washing your hands for twenty seconds. You only have to do that if you go out and you don’t go out.”

I resist rolling my eyes visibly at her and take my container from lunch upstairs. I seriously can’t believe how dumb she’s being. First of all, we use liquid soap, so whether we wash our hands for ten seconds or twenty, the same amount is used. Secondly, does she not even think that her being at the house for an additional eight to ten hours, three days a week, for the past six weeks might make a difference?

In middle school, I go on a school trip to New York. The school has us wear name tags on school lanyards. Since all the places we visit are popular with school groups, the lanyards let the employees know we should be with the group or at least a chaperone. If any of us slips away from the group, employees will quickly usher us back.

Some students have tried to hide or throw away their name tags to avoid this, so the head chaperone — a very strict nun — announces that anyone found without a lanyard or name tag will have to spend the remainder of the trip within six feet of her at all times and then have a month’s worth of detentions when we get back.

While we’re on a ferry, we’re allowed to wander around a bit, since we can’t go far on a boat. I’m leaning against the railing and fiddling idly with the name tag when I notice something white fluttering down to the water below. I don’t realize it’s my name tag until it’s way too far to reach.

I start to freak out internally. I’ve never gotten in trouble at school before or had even a single detention, and now I’m possibly facing a month’s worth of them! After debating what to do, I eventually decide to just tell the head chaperone what happened and hope for the best. There’s no way I could get away with not having a name tag because they’ll be checked as soon as we get off the ferry.

I go to the head chaperone and explain very nervously. Instead of yelling at me, she writes out a replacement name tag and hands it to me. I stand there staring at it in shock. She laughs and says, “Did you think you’d get detention? Don’t worry; that’s just for the bad kids. I know you’re a good kid.”

And that was the day I learned I could get away with anything, so long as I maintained my reputation as a “good kid.” The rest of middle school was fun.

I own an alternative gift and book shop, open six days a week, including Sunday. I can see the front windows and door from where I usually sit. And this scenario happens every. Single. Sunday.

People look in the front window. All the lights are on. I have a sandwich board out on the sidewalk which people look at. There is a bright yellow “OPEN” sign hanging on the door, just above the “Opening Hours” sign, which also states that we are open. I will often catch people’s eyes from where I sit behind the counter and wave at them, saying loudly, “Come in; we’re open!”

For some reason, at that point, they back away, saying, “Sorry, we thought you were open.”