We joke about people who drive large trucks in East Texas, and my husband always has tons of stories to share. His favorite is still about some guy in a Dodge double cab trying to weave in and out of traffic. He decided to ride my husband’s rear for a good five miles, then nearly caused an accident when he darted to the left lane, then in front of my husband. He slammed on his brakes, trying to cause my husband to hit him, but my husband had already begun to stop. He just had a feeling the guy was road-raging.

The truck driver decided to speed back up and gets stuck behind someone going extremely slow, and is unable to move back over due to the right lane’s decrease of speed. My husband, however, is able to get over due to having a small car. He watches with interest as the truck speeds up, slams on his brakes, then speeds up again in repetition while getting nowhere. My husband eventually is back beside him and sees the guy slamming his hands on his wheel, cursing at traffic.

They get to a stop light, and it has turned red by the time the truck has gotten to it. All the same, he speeds through it, catching up to my husband … who has slowed down at the next red light. In succession, they caught every red light for five more stops. At the final red light, the truck driver looks as though he’s going livid. He looks over at my husband, who merely grins at him, waves, and then turns left off the main road.

A woman’s mail keeps coming to my flat. I’ve tried to deliver her mail a couple of times and always fail because there is no one home.

I try one more time. The woman doesn’t even open the door, just opens a window and yells at me until she pauses for a breathe, where I am able to tell her I have a parcel and want to check it is hers.

She begins yelling again, confirming it is hers and to just put it through the d*** door. I do so and leave as she yells after me to not come back.

Next time I get her mail I’m just leaving it at the post office with a complaint.

I’m working at a women’s clothing store. We have a male cross-dresser who comes in once in a while. Some of my coworkers find it weird, but he’s always polite and sweet to us, so I will volunteer to help him, as our store’s goal is to make everyone look and feel beautiful.

One day he comes in looking for a new dress, as we’re having a big sale. I bring him some and offer my candid opinion on each of them, telling him what looks good or bad on his figure, which he seems extremely grateful for. The whole time he’s just so nice that I can’t help but smile.

Eventually I find him a discounted designer dress that fits perfectly and looks amazing. He buys it, gushing about how happy he is with my pick.

A month later he comes back to the store and specifically asks for me. He tells me how he wore it while in NYC and got so many compliments and how he thought of me the whole time. He asks if there’s a number he can call to give me a review. I direct him to the online survey, and he gives me a great big hug, thanking me again.

A few days later my boss shows me the great review he’d sent corporate, which went towards getting me a raise. It may not have been much, and I’ve moved on to a new job since, but I still think fondly of that customer and how much it must have meant to him to have someone willing to help him without being patronizing or rude.

It just shows that no matter a person’s gender, style, or body type, you should always do your best to help a person look and feel beautiful.

My dad had recently started his own business. My grandparents have come to town to visit, and my dad and grandma spend a few hours discussing his business plan, including contrasting it with crowdfunding and other things that he’d learned getting his business degree that hadn’t existed when my grandma retired.

A few days later, my dad gets an urgent phone call from my grandma; she had ordered “something important” for him and should arrive in the mail any second now, and to call and let her know as soon as he received it.

Nearly a week later, the mystery package arrived. Inside was a book: “Crowdfunding For Dummies.”

Friends and family are in a special waiting room waiting to hear the results of my husband’s heart-catheterization, occasionally softly talking. Softly, because the adjoining bunk room is occupied and its door is open. Suddenly, noises from the bunk room indicate a couple is enjoying VERY enthusiastic sex!

None of us know what to do. The area just outside the waiting room is too busy for us to occupy space. Leaving the area means risking missing the doctor. We just avoid looking into the bunk room or at each other until the couple is silent again.

About ten minutes after that, the doctor arrives to talk with us. We all are extremely quiet, but a man in the bunk room protests: “For G*d’s sake! We’re trying to get some sleep in here!”